Emergence of the Dragon
by Deus Swiftblade
Summary: At first, she was thought to be the king's bastard, his one mistake. She was a stranger in her own home. When she was gone, it felt like her family didn't care that she was. It hurt but she taught herself not to care. She stayed away until she had to go back. She went back to King's Landing, different from when she left. Her name was Joan. This is her tale.
1. The Maiden

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Emergence of the Dragon

Chapter 1: The Maiden

"Talking"

" _Thinking"_

 **Rhaella**

(Location: Red Keep)

The girl was close to tears as Rhaella's son and king lectured her sternly. Elia stood next to him, her normally gentle face morphed into a harsh scowl. Rhaella stood off to the side, listening but not listening to what Rhaegar was saying. She was there because it had been her daughter who was almost harmed only two hours past. And it had been the fault of her granddaughter.

Some might call her a bastard, but Rhaegar had named her his daughter by Lyanna Stark, who he had wedded in front of a heart tree. The Faith had said that such a thing was not a legitimate marriage but he still called her his daughter, giving her the name, Targaryen. For a year she had borne the name of Visenya, until Elia had been granted a miracle and safely birthed a second daughter. One only had to look at the little babe to see that she was the perfect mixture of Valyrian and Rhoynar blood. She was given the name Visenya and the girl who held it went nameless for three years before she called herself Joan.

"Am I understood, girl?" Rhaegar asked as he finished, looking at her.

She nodded, her tears still trying not to fall. "Yes, Father."

"What?" he asked her. Her voice became sterner. He was a king now, not a father.

She cringed and said again, "I-I mean, yes, your Grace." She kept her eyes on him, not on anyone else.

"Good." He left the room with his wife behind him. The door slamming shut was like a sword striking a shield.

There were only two of them in the room. Rhaella watched the girl as she turned to look at her. "Grandmother," she started to say, "I—"

"Be quiet," Rhaella ordered. She had held her anger in while Rhaegar had talked. But now they were alone and this child would receive her anger, as she rightly deserved. "You put my daughter in danger. You put your own blood, your family, in danger." If Ser Gerold hadn't heard Daenerys scream to be let go, she shuddered to think what might've happened.

"I didn't mean to! I—"

"Be quiet!" she snapped, silencing her. "I don't care for your excuses. You tried taking my daughter to a dangerous man. All I want to hear right now is why you decided to do so." The girl didn't say anything. Tears too busy rolling down her face. Rhaella became impatient. "Well?" she demanded.

The tears came faster but she still managed to speak. Her voice was choked with her crying as she said, "H-He just wanted to meet Dany. He promised to be nice to her."

Those words ignited her anger. "Get out! Get out of my sight, you stupid girl!" She ran out of the room, crying hard. Rhaella was left in the room, stewing in her anger.

She didn't know why but when she realized where she was going, she didn't bother to stop herself. She reached the door deep in Maegor's Holdfast. There were no guards before it but that may have to change. She pushed the door open and stepped inside. There were bars and a locked door that greeted her. On the other side was a room with a bed and a table.

She knew the man sitting on the bed. "Is that you, girl?" the man asked in a rasp, standing up. "I was wondering where you had gotten to."

Rhaella stared at him with stony anger. "Think again," she told him.

He came to the bars and stared at her. "Ah, Rhaella, my sister, my wife, my queen," he said to her. He grinned like his words were funny. "You've come to visit me, after so long. I'm touched."

"I would rather never set eyes upon you again, Aerys," she said. She could still remember those nights that he came to her and raped her. When their son took the Iron Throne and threw him into this room, she never thought she would see him again.

He laughed like it was the funniest thing. "Then why are you here?" He suddenly slammed his face into the bars, the sound of flesh hitting metal filling the room. "Are you a liar too, Rhaella? Are you?"

She ignored his question. "I am here to tell you that you will never see your daughter. Daenerys is mine and mine alone. She will never turn her eyes onto you."

Her words had an effect on him she didn't expect. He pulled his face away from the bars, looking sad. "So it will be like that, will it?" he asked, turning away and walking to the table placed opposite of the bed. "A pity, I would've thought she could do it. She had never failed me before."

" _Before?"_ wondered Rhaella. What did he mean by that? "She has given you other things?"

"Yes, some treats. A fresh loaf of bread, a book," he told her with his back turned. "This would've been the first time she would bring a person to me." His hand gripped the chair. "What did you do to that little girl, Rhaella? What did you do to our granddaughter?"

"I didn't do anything. It was the king who chastises and punished her."

"Rhaegar," he snarled, "My traitorous son. How hypocritical of him to punish her when he barely cares for the daughter he abandon. He couldn't even be bothered to name her again when he stole her first name from her." His anger vanished and laughter replaced it. "The irony of it is lost on him."

"What irony?" Rhaella asked.

He turned around and faced her again. "The Dragon has come again, Rhaella. It has come again in her. Not in any of the other children, only her." He became sorrowful. "It's a shame that I will not see it happen."

"You're wrong. Aegon is the future king." He didn't say anything to that. She should have left then but something was keeping her in there. She didn't know what. Perhaps it was the first time she spoke to Aerys since he had been thrown in here. "Why did you give her that name?" she finally asked him.

He didn't look at her. He chose to walk to window and look out it. "What do you mean?"

"Why did you call her Joan? Do you wish to bring back Joanna that much? Was that all you could talk about with her?"

"No. She named herself. She is a sweet girl who wanted a family. None of you gave her it, so she came to me." He turned back to the bars, pressing his face against them. "Could you do something for me, Rhaella? When I die, I want you to send a message to Tywin. Tell him that the loss of our friendship, my rejection of his daughter for Rhaegar, the loss of his precious golden son, and the loss of everything we did, it was his fault."

She should have dismissed his words as madness. But she asked him, "How is it his fault?"

"When Father declared us to be married, I didn't want it any more than you did. So I planned to escape it. Tywin too thought it unjust and helped me plan a means of escape. We decided on having our own sets of weddings: I was to marry Joanna, and you were to marry Tywin."

She was astounded. She could not believe his words. "What?" She had never heard of such a plan when their father declared their betrothal to each other. She had found Tywin to be handsome if not a bit grim and serious. But she had no means or intentions of actually wedding him. But then she reminded herself that this was Aerys's plan. It wouldn't be as if he would ask her if she thought it was a good idea.

But he nodded his head. "Yes, that was the plan. That was why Joanna was sent to King's Landing." His face turned angry. "But before we could escape our father's decree, Tywin fell in love with Joanna and married her first! I begged with him not to do it, not to betray me like that. All the damn fool said that she gave him a reason to smile! All he had to do was swallow his fucking pride! He would've been happy with you too if you had married him! If a Targaryen wasn't good enough for a Lannister, then clearly a Lannister is not good enough for a Targaryen!" He pressed his face into the bars and looked at her. "Tell him that. Tell him that and tell him that he should've listened to me!"

That was when she was able to leave the room and Aerys behind. But as she left, words followed her out. It wasn't the words of how it was Tywin's fault for what happened (which she didn't believe already) but rather it was what he had said about their granddaughter. When Aerys had said that she was the Dragon come again, he didn't sound mad. And that was more terrifying than when he was.

A terrible thought came to her as she walked away from the door. _"Is she becoming like Aerys? Is he turning her mad?"_ The memories came back to her in a tidal wave. All the pain that was inflected on her by Aerys in the troughs of his madness, she would not let it happen again. She would keep an eye on the girl and watch to see if she would go mad.

 **Barristan**

(Location: King's Landing)

As he followed the royal family up the path to the Red Keep, Barristan thought about the previous king. Before he had turned mad, King Aerys had held such promise. But after Duskendale…there were times he had wondered if it had been best to have left Aerys in the dungeon and crowned Rhaegar then instead of the rebellion. But it didn't matter now. The Mad King was dead.

The royal family had been in Dorne, enjoying the hospitality of the queen's brother, when the news finally came. King Rhaegar set sail from Sunspear immediately upon receiving the news. Prince Oberyn and his paramour, along with the eldest two of the Sand Snakes, had joined them in the week-long journey from Sunspear at sea. He watched as Oberyn's daughters stifled their noses at the smell of the city. He couldn't blame them for it.

As they rode into the courtyard of the Red Keep, the servants all hurried out to take care of the horses and the baggage. But none of his fellow brothers were there to greet the king and his family. He found it odd but did not say anything. He followed the royal family into the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne was. It was there he found his two last brothers, Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell. But they were not alone.

"Greetings, Father," Princess Joan said to the king, standing before the Iron Throne. She wore a dress that Barristan had seen Princess Rhaenys wear only a year before, a grey drab thing that looked rather big on her. This was the way with the second princess. People had been unsure of how to approach her situation back when she had been known as Princess Visenya. When the queen gave birth to a second daughter, she was forgotten almost entirely, losing her name too. If she was mentioned at all in the castle, it was only as "the Stark girl." That changed when she declared that her name was Joan but the people of the court still choose to ignore her, not wanting to risk the anger of the queen and heirs choosing to instead focus on the trueborn children of King Rhaegar's marriage to Elia.

Ser Barristan liked to think that he was a friend of hers. He would be glad to protect her, but his duties frequently assigned him to more…influential members of the royal family.

The king looked at her and said, "Joan. What are you doing here?"

"I came to greet you. I was the Targaryen in the Red Keep," she explained to him. The words sounded quite similar to something Ser Barristan had heard from the Starks and their castle. It made him wonder if she wanted to be like them. She looked at them, her eyes observing the familiar faces but frowning at the unfamiliar ones. "Who are they?" she demanded.

Queen Elia frowned. "You mind yourself, girl," she told her sharply. "This is my brother, Oberyn."

"It is alright, Elia," Prince Oberyn told her. He walked past her to the Stark girl, his paramour by his side. Barristan knew what he was about to do. In spite of his infamy, the Red Viper had, by reputation, a soft spot for children. Prince Aegon and his sisters, along with Princess Daenerys, had been nervous before first meeting him but by that night, they acted like they had known him their entire lives. He hoped Princess Joan would be no different.

When they reached her, they both knelt down so they were face to face with her. "Prince Oberyn," she said politely. She tried to curtesy and the attempt made both Queen Elia and Queen Rhaella wince.

He only smiled. "Hello there, Princess. It's nice to finally meet you."

It was clear to Barristan that the princess was unsure of what to say to him. The Kingsguard knew why and his heart hurt for it. This was probably one of the few times she'd been greeted by someone who seemed genuinely pleased to meet her. To have it be a member of Queen Elia's family must seem doubly strange. She turned her head to look at the woman next to him. "Who is she?"

Prince Oberyn's paramour put on a kind smile. "My name is Ellaria Sand, Princess Joan," she said, warmth coating her voice. "You have beautiful eyes."

She blushed at the compliment. "Thank you, my lady," she said. "My grandfather used to say the same thing." She sniffled and to Ser Barristan, it was obvious that she was trying hard not to cry in front of them. He only had to glance at Prince Aegon and Princess Rhaenys to know they were ready to mock those tears. Princess Visenya looked ready to copy their actions, even if she didn't really know what they meant. She adored her elder siblings that much.

But Prince Oberyn offered her a handkerchief. "Come now, you don't need to cry," he told her gently. She took the offering and wiped her tears away. "You must miss your grandfather very much."

She nodded. "I do. I want him back."

Her words were enough for Queen Elia. "Leave this hall and go to your rooms, girl," she commanded her in a stern voice. She looked at her with shock and surprise. It was clear that she hadn't expected that. But the queen only narrowed her eyes and said, "Go." Ser Lewyn stepped in behind her, adding to her authority.

She left, brushing past the rest of the royal family without another word. Barristan watched her go and he noticed that Prince Oberyn and his paramour watched everything in silence. When the doors closed shut behind her, King Rhaegar finally spoke. "Our attention must turn to my father's funeral. Have the Silent Sisters attended to his body already?"

Both Ser Jaime and Ser Oswell gave each other a look. It was not a look that comforted Barristan. "They have, in a manner of speaking," Oswell finally said.

"What does that mean?" asked little Princess Daenerys. She looked up curiously at him, trying to understand what he was saying.

"They already prepared his body, laid him out for the service, had his ashes properly placed in a jar, and installed it in the crypts below."

"What?" Queen Rhaella said in outrage. "You allowed this all to happen before we arrived?"

Ser Jaime looked uneasy and uncomfortable. "Your Graces, King Aerys…" He flinched at the sight of such stormy looks. No one called Aerys king after his dethronement. "He's been dead for over a month now."

Silence reigned in the throne room. When Barristan dared to look at the royal family, he saw that the adults, along with Prince Viserys, were stunned. "He's been dead?" Queen Rhaella repeated, her voice showing her shock. "And you did not think it fit to inform us?"

"We did try sending a raven," Oswell explained. "But each message was stopped before it had even reached the bird."

"Who stopped them?" Prince Oberyn asked.

Ser Barristan's brothers looked at each other. "Princess Joan," Ser Jaime explained. He looked embarrassed for having missed it. "When we finally found out and confronted her, she told us that if the royal family wished to enjoy their time in Dorne, why should we be bothered to tell them of what happened?"

Queen Elia looked at the king and said, "That girl needs to be reminded of who she is to us." Barristan thought that whatever it was the queen wanted to happen, it was probably going to be too cruel for the princess. But it was not his place to say. He did look to Arthur and Gerold Hightower to see if they would say anything.

But it was Jaime who spoke. "Your Grace, it was the princess who stood the vigil for Aerys. She stood through the night but refused to leave when the morning came and I tried to lead her away. It was her who held the torch that sent her grandfather to the ashes. She did it, with no help from anyone." The queen said nothing to that. Her brother was still watching everything.

* * *

For the rest of the day, Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime were set to guard Prince Oberyn and his paramour. Many times through the day they would go and find Princess Joan. The princess was surprised they would come looking for her. She kept telling them that the queen or her siblings were not in the room and either the prince or the lady would tell her that they were there for her.

The two Kingsguard watched as they worked the magic that brought the other children to their good side. They managed to make Princess Joan start to smile with their words and questions. Ser Barristan believed the Viper of Dorne actually wanted to get to know his good-niece. But more often than not, they would be interrupted. Either Queen Elia would walk in, wanting a word. If it was not her, than it would've been Prince Aegon, Princess Rhaenys, Princess Visenya, or some combination of the two. As soon as they had Prince Oberyn's attention, Princess Joan would leave as quietly as she could.

And still, in spite of this, Oberyn and Ellaria would continue to find the princess time after time, coaxing out her hard won smiles. They had even invited her to join them in supper. Ser Barristan stood by the door, keeping watch on them all. "Would you indulge me a question, little wolf?" Prince Oberyn asked, using the endearment they had given her.

She looked up from her food. "Yes?"

"How did you meet your grandfather?"

An uneasy feeling passed through Ser Barristan, realizing now that Prince Oberyn had chosen to ask this question here, at supper, when the rest of the royal family ate together. There would be no interruptions.

Until the incident with Princess Daenerys, no one had known that Princess Joan had been visiting Aerys. It had been a shock to him when he learned of it and he knew that Queen Rhaella kept Joan at a distance since. He watched the little girl go still in her chair, a scared look crossing her eyes. This was probably the first time someone had asked her that.

The Dornish pair saw the look too. "It's alright, little wolf," Ellaria told her with a calm voice. "If you don't wish to tell us, you—"

"I wanted to play with Visenya one day when I was four," she said, the words coming out in a rush. She stopped herself and started again, much slower. "But I couldn't find her. I looked through the Red Keep but no matter where I looked, she wasn't there. I found myself in a part of the castle I didn't know.

"I was scared. There was no one around to help me. I tried going back the way I came but it didn't help. That's when I heard someone speaking through a door. I knocked on the door and stepped through. I saw the bars and thought that that I was in the prison. Grandfather came to the bars, demanding who I was and that I should kneel to the king."

"What did you do then?" Oberyn asked her.

She picked at the food in front of her. "I told him who I was. He stopped being angry and looked at me differently. He said 'So you're my granddaughter. Why did you take this long to meet me?' I didn't know how to answer that but he waved it away, saying it didn't matter. I spent the rest of the day in that room, talking to him. When night came, he told me how to go back. I promised him I would come back again. I did."

"And what was the man like himself?" asked Lady Ellaria.

The more the princess talked, the more she became at ease. "He was kind and good to me. If I didn't say anything that would make him angry, he was able to talk to me. He told me a lot of stories from his youth, the grand plans he had, the friends he shared a close bond with." She paused and thought over her next words. "Although he didn't really like someone named Tywin very much." Both the prince and his lady chuckled at that.

Oberyn waved his hand her. "Go on."

She opened her mouth just as the door to the chambers opened. Queen Elia walked in. "Oberyn, I would like to…" she started to say, only to stop when she saw Princess Joan. "What are you doing here?"

She froze. Her eyes darted between her and her brother. "I… I was invited."

The queen pointed to the door. "Leave, now." Princess Joan got down from her chair and quickly left the room, her eyes facing the ground. Ser Barristan wanted to go after her, to comfort her. But he had his orders to stay and guard Prince Oberyn.

The silence that suddenly fell into the room was a pregnant one, and Barristan felt exceedingly uncomfortable as it wore on, with the queen glaring daggers into her brother. "Ser Barristan," she finally said, "If you would please wait outside. I seem to need to talk with my brother."

He stepped outside and took post by the door. The door closed but not all the way. He didn't know if that was on purpose or not, but he could hear what was being said inside. "How could you, Oberyn?" the queen demanded.

"You know full well that I was having a private dinner with the girl," he replied. "You came in here to drive her away, Elia. How could you?" Even though his voice was calm, Barristan could hear the disappointment in it.

The queen must've heard it too, for her reply was stiff. "I did what needed to be done."

"What needed to be done? You mean ensuring that we never really know the girl? That's what you had your children and yourself do this entire day." The next words he spoke were full of disgust along with the disappointment. "I thought you better than this, Elia. Clearly, you've been far too long from Dorne."

"What do you mean?"

"No matter what side of the sheets they came from, bastard children are still a part of the family, treated with love and kindness. That little girl is terrified of you. She wants to be with her siblings but they pretend that she's not even there. Now that I think about it, you can't even call her a bastard."

He couldn't see it but Barristan knew that the queen was scowling. "That was not a legitimate marriage. The Faith declared it as such."

"The Faith does not command every god in Westeros."

"She spoke with the Mad King on more than one occasion. Who knows what kind of lies he filled her with?"

There was a snap in Oberyn's voice. "She went to him because he was the only one who gave her love. And we both also know that is a weak reason, Elia. Tell me, why is it that you have had the girl kept at arm's length?" Silence reigned through the door. "Well?"

He heard the queen sigh. "You couldn't possibly understand, Oberyn. The girl is not what you think she is. She's a—"

"A what?" her brother asked challengingly, "A bastard? A disgrace?" Silence answered his question. It was a long, interminable silence. "…We will be leaving tomorrow."

"What?" said a surprised Queen Elia. "You've only just arrived."

"'Tis true, it was a short visit." He sighed, in that theatrical, overdramatic fashion of his. "But I can see now that this Red Keep has given you some new perspective. Bastards aren't to be tolerated in my sister's presence. As such I must escort Ellaria and my daughters from you in all haste. They would be too much of a disgrace for you."

"Your children are not a disgrace, Oberyn."

"No," the voice of Lady Ellaria said. It was the first time she spoke through the entire argument. Her voice was courteous but there was an undercurrent of venom to it. "What is a disgrace is the fact that you willingly set sail for Dorne on the little wolf's nameday, leaving her behind."

Barristan felt a horrible feeling crawl down his stomach and rested there. He had not realized the day they sailed for Dorne was the nameday of Princess Joan. She must have woken up that day expecting perhaps some small celebration or gift from her family, only instead to find out they were leaving her alone in the Red Keep. _"Forgive me, Princess."_ But even though he made that prayer, it was too little, too late.

The door opened and the queen left. The Kingsguard did not follow her or seek out the princess to apologize. He stayed to his post and obeyed his orders.

 **Mya**

(Location: the Eyrie)

"Domeric's going back to the North. He's offered to take me with him," Joan said to her.

Mya regarded her friend in the bed they shared. She could barely make out her form in the darkness but she could still see her. The light from the moon helped too. "What of it?" she asked.

She could not look her in the eyes. "Well, I just wondered…if you wanted to come with me." The last couple of words were said in a whisper.

Mya looked at Joan. The girl had come to the Eyrie with the royal family and was left behind when they left. But by then the two of them had already become friends, having literally run into each other that first day. Joan had spent the entire time with her and when the royal family left, she helped Mya with the mules. Strangely enough, Lord Arryn always got that look in his eyes when he saw the two of them together, along with a sad sort of smile. She wondered what it could mean but she did not ask.

But that wasn't the point here. "You've spent a lot of time with this Domeric," she pointed out.

Joan blushed a little bit. If she was a proper lady, it might have been called pretty. "He's from the North," she protested. "He's been telling me all about it."

"Is that all?" Mya knew that she seemed to hang on to every word the northerner had said since he came to Eyrie with House Redfort. He seemed nice, but she had not really talked to him.

"Yes, Mya," Joan told her.

"Then why is it that you've been missing from the bed for several nights? Have you been sleeping in his bed?" She could not look at her in the eyes. It confirmed her suspicions. "Well, at least he's handsome enough." That was always a benefit.

"It's not like that!" she protested. "We just share the bed and he tells me about the North. We haven't done anything."

Mya knew that but she could tell that her friend probably would've done so if she was offered the chance. "Why would you want to go North in any case?" she asked.

She fidgeted in the bed, unable to sit still. "I could meet my family. If I go with Domeric, I could see them." She sounded hesitant as she spoke, as if she wasn't sure it was still a good idea.

"But what does that—?" She was cut off when Joan turned and kissed her. It wasn't a kiss on the cheek but on the lips. It was awkward and a little hesitant but it was passionate. She was being kissed like a lover. When Joan pulled away, all she could say was, "Oh."

Joan was blushing completely now. She opened her mouth but the words that were to follow seemed hard to say. "I…I want you to come with me, Mya. Please. I'm sure that when you meet my uncle, he'll welcome you."

She stared at her friend for the longest time. She was offering something else beside the chance to go North. She was offering her love. But she was also offering something else with that love: a chance to leave what she knew behind for something unknown. And that, along with the love, absolutely scared her. "I can't, Joan," she finally said, watching her friend's heart break. Still, she pressed on. "This is my home, I can't just leave it. Lord Arryn depends on me to take care of the mules."

Joan nodded and said quietly, "I see."

There was a part of Mya that had hoped she would not go through with this fool plan. But in that moment, she knew that she had lost her to it. There was only one thing she could do. She reached out and pulled her into a tight hug. "I will be your friend, Joan. Will you remember that when you leave?"

The other girl didn't shy away from the hug. "I will. Thank you, Mya."

 **Eddard**

(Location: Castle Black)

His horse was all but dead on its feet as he rode it into Castle Black's courtyard. But Eddard Stark had more things to be concerned about. As his guard rode in behind him, he hauled himself off the saddle. Benjen was there, waiting for him. "Where is she?" he asked right away.

"In the library, with Maester Aemon," Benjen told him. "It's the only place she'll be other than with the wilding woman."

After giving quick instructions to Jory to settle the men, they started walking to the library. "Is it really her, Benjen?" he asked. "Is it really Lyanna's daughter?" The last time he had seen was when she but a newborn, underneath the hot sun of Dorne. He had sent many ravens to the king, asking for her to be fostered in Winterfell but he was always refused. When he got the raven from his brother that their niece was under guard at Castle Black, he couldn't have left Winterfell fast enough.

His brother nodded. "It's her, Ned. My party found them coming up to the Wall. When there only her and that spearwife with her, she saw me and threw down her spear, saying that she yielded to her uncle. I looked at her proper and I swear that I was looking at a ghost."

"How did she get on the other side of the Wall in the first place?" Winterfell hadn't known that she had disappeared until a year after the fact. The king didn't even bother to send him a raven about it. He had gotten it from Jon Arryn, who also admitted to having her in the Eyrie for a few short months. It came to Ned as a shock to learn his niece was living with the wildings for three years now.

Benjen turned grim as they approached the library, walking down the steps. "That should be a question you should ask Joan."

"Joan? Is that her name?"

"Aye, she chose it herself when her original name was taken away from her." His voice showed the barely restrained anger that they both had about that subject. They had both heard of how the second daughter of Queen Elia was named Visenya when Lyanna's daughter had already been named such. Ned had been outraged by it and he knew that Benjen was the same.

When they reached the door, Benjen stopped him. "There's one more thing you need to know, Ned," he said quietly. "Don't speak ill of the Mad King in front of Joan. She almost killed one of the rangers because of it."

That was shocking news to him. "Why?"

"Because it seems that he was the only who actually treated her as family." There was an irony to those words that neither of them were comfortable with. He reached out and rapped on the door. "Maester Aemon, it is Benjen. I have Lord Stark with me. May we come in?"

"Of course you may," a soft gentle voice spoke from the other side. "Come in."

He pushed the door open and they went inside. The maester sat at the table by the fire so he could be warmed. But Ned's eyes were on the girl dressed in the black clothes of the Watch. Benjen was right. It was like staring at a ghost long dead. She was Lyanna come again. His voice felt thick in his throat and all he could manage to say was "Joan."

"Lord Stark," she said back. She stayed close to the maester. Her eyes looked at him. They were not full of happiness at seeing him but rather apprehensive fear.

Those eyes looking at him so tore at his heart. She was his niece. She did not need to fear him. His feet carried him across the room and he stood before her. She took a half step back from him, still apprehensive. "You're safe, Joan," he told her. "I would not hurt you." Hesitantly, he held his arms out for a hug.

She came to him slowly. Her eyes looked at him, then at Benjen, and at Maester Aemon. She stepped close to him and he hugged her gently. She hugged him back. "I'm so glad to have finally met you," she said into his shoulder. "I never thought that I would meet my mother's family." When they broke the hug, she looked at him worriedly. "Are you going to send me back south?"

He knew that men said that Eddard Stark had ice in his veins instead of blood. But they were wrong. He had blood and it burned with anger. Not at her and her question, but at the fear that was carried with it. She was actually scared that he would bring back to King's Landing and the Targaryens. "No," he told her. "I will not. You are home now, Joan."

"Let us all sit down and eat something," Maester Aemon said softly. "You will be able to talk to each other about what has happened." They did indeed sit down at the table. Food and drink were brought to them and Joan began to tell her tale.

She spoke of how she went with Lord Bolton's son, Domeric, back to the Dreadfort. He was to bring her to Winterfell and introduce her to Lord Stark and his family. But he had gone to look for his own family first, a bastard brother named Ramsay that he had learned of. The two came back and within a week, Domeric was dead.

She had come to the Dreadfort disguised as a servant and she was forced to stay in that role for some months. It only came to an end when Ramsay Snow laid eyes on her and decided that she was to be his next sport. Ned was appalled to hear that the sport was meant as stripping her naked and making her run through the forest while he chased after her with hunting dogs. It was only by the graces of the old gods that a raiding band of wildings found her. They hadn't kidnapped Joan. She went with them willingly to escape the bastard of Bolton.

As she finished her tale, he knew that Roose Bolton and he would be having a talk. "What will happen to me now?" Joan asked him.

Ned Stark did not pause to consider the question. "You will come back to Winterfell with me."

She smiled brightly. But it only lasted for a moment. "What about Osha?"

"Osha?" he said, not understanding what she meant.

His brother supplied him with the answer. "The wilding woman who surrendered with her," he said. "We've got her locked away for the moment."

"Uncle Benjen, please don't kill her," Joan told him. She sounded on the verge of begging. "She did nothing wrong. When I was amongst the Free Folk, she was one of the few who first welcomed me. She's my friend."

"She's a wilding spearwife, Joan," Benjen replied.

"So was I."

"Perhaps," Maester Aemon said softly, "it would be for the best if we allowed this Osha to go back to the wildings. There she can tell them that Joan is amongst her own people, they will not come looking for her." He looked at Joan and somehow managed to look rueful. "If I heard my niece right, she's quite favored of Mance Ryder."

She nodded. "He sees me as a would-be daughter," she explained to them all.

Ned and Benjen looked at each other in quiet discussion. Neither of them was keen on the idea of sending a wilding back to the rest of them so she could tell them what she saw. But Joan had asked them to spare her life. She had looked at them both with a hope they would be merciful to her friend. "Very well," Benjen finally said. "We'll spare her and send her back." Joan smiled again, this time gratefully.

 **Catelyn**

(Location: Winterfell)

"Joan, you mustn't let Arya do such things," Catelyn heard her daughter say through the door. She was approaching the room where Sansa and her ladies would be embroidering.

"Why's that, Sansa?" asked Princess Joan. She sounded a little amused. "If my cousin wants to learn how to fire a bow properly, how could I refuse her?"

"But it's not ladylike!"

There was a pause that felt too long to Catelyn. "…Are you saying that I'm not a lady, Sansa?" Joan asked her voice holding a strange tone. If Catelyn had to place it… it would be amused, but her years in the south before coming north allowed her to recognize that tone. Guarded, on edge. Her smile and courtesy was a shield.

"No! No!" said Sansa quickly. "I didn't mean it like that, Joan! Of course you are a lady."

A less polite person would wonder if Joan wasn't a lady right to her face. Sansa always gladly looked past the fact that she lived beyond the Wall and focused on how she lived in King's Landing. For Sansa, the fact that Joan had lived with the wildings was always dutifully ignored as much as possible.

Catelyn chose that moment to walk through the door. "Good day," she said to the ladies in the room. Sansa sat with Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel. Joan sat across from the three. Cat was unsure if that was deliberate or not.

Her daughter set aside her work. She was surprised to see her. "Mother, have you come to see our embroidery?" she asked.

She smiled at Sansa. "Indeed I have."

"We were just talking about Arya learning to use a bow, Lady Stark," Jeyne said, and if Catelyn could _will_ the girl to drop the subject she would have.

No doubt Jeyne was seeking an ally in her. The Seven knew taming Arya's desire to be as unladylike as possible was already an uphill fight without the Princess encouraging her by example and practice.

But one did not reprimand a member of the royal family, even if Cat knew that Joan would immediately stop if she or Ned asked.

"I think we all know why Arya want to learn how to shoot a bow," Beth Cassel decided to contribute. "It was that archery contest you had with Theon, Joan."

Catelyn remembered that. Practically everyone had turned out for that when word got around. It was the first time the Greyjoy met his match with a bow.

"I think Arya wanted to learn even before that," Joan replied, unable to look up at her eyes.

"Is that really it?" asked Jeyne Poole. "I thought it was when Lord Robb sparred against Princess Joan."

"Yes," said Beth Cassel with a nod, "My father praised her skill with the spear, said that she was getting better each day."

That was news to Catelyn. It made her look more closely at her niece. "When did this happen?" she asked curiously.

Cat could remember when Joan had first arrived at Winterfell with her husband from the Wall, She'd had made an attempt to pull her away from her spear and bow, worried that the wildling influence would ruin the girl's prospects for future marriage. Cat would have kept trying but she wasn't blind, and she wasn't stupid. As she insisted and tried to curb the girl's desire to fight Joan would _obey_ no longer than strictly necessary, and no doubt only because of Ned; her manner would become more withdrawn and more…depressed.

Ned told her to let it be. While she did not think it proper, she obeyed and allowed the girl to keep to her practices.

Joan kept her eyes down. "Only a few days past, Lady Stark," she told her. She stood up from her chair, set aside the shirt, said, "Your pardon," and quickly left the room.

She watched the princess leave the room. This was not the first time something like this had happened. Whilst Joan loved the Starks, from her firstborn to her youngest along with her husband, she would avoid Catelyn if she could. When she wouldn't, she was polite and always watching her manners. But not once would she dare to look her in the eyes.

Catelyn went over to the chair and picked up the shirt. It was much too small for Joan to wear. But it was the right fit for a small boy. "Is this Rickon's shirt?" she asked Sansa.

Her daughter nodded. "He tore it and Joan promised to fix it for him." Sansa sighed. "Joan knows how to do those repairs so well. She helped mend one of my dresses and I couldn't even tell where it had been torn when she was done. I just don't know why she doesn't do embroidery as well."

Beth Cassel sighed too. "I wish I could play music like she could. Everything I try to play just sounds awful."

Catelyn knew what both girls said was true. Joan could sew clothing tears with a skill that came from living with the wildings, forcing her to make her own clothes and furs. Where she learned music was still something of a mystery Catelyn had not dared to breach yet. While she often designed to play good Northern tunes that could make people dance; she also, on rare occasions played more somber, harmonious things that would be more in tune with the southern court.

She spoke for a little while longer with Sansa and the girls, inspecting their needlework. As usual, Sansa's was near perfect, with her having the beginnings of a gorgeous mosaic of the house sigils of the seven Kingdoms in silver thread on a black cloth. Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel's choices were less ambitious, but still quite skilled as well.

When she left Sansa and her ladies behind, her thoughts came to Joan.

Again, she wasn't blind and she wasn't stupid. All she saw in Joan when she looked her way was a thinly veiled fear, Fear of some reprimand, some word of condemnation, especially when Catelyn caught Joan near her children.

The answer was obvious…

Joan could easily talk about the wildings, of her time beyond the wall, even for all its hardship; but never, would she dare speak about King's Landing.

Sansa would beg her to tell tales of the capital but Joan would fend off the questions or give her short answers. Jeyne would ask about the brave knights of the Kingsguard, and there she would speak a little more, but only of a few. Ser Jaime Lannister, Ser Barristan.

But in her voice, in her eyes there was that same emotion that she reserved for Catelyn and Catelyn alone in Winterfell.

She looked at Catelyn like she looked at her memories of the capital. For the longest time; Catelyn remained quiet on the subject, until one day, her curiosity, as well as…to be perfectly frank, _worry_ at having a member of the royal family look on her like a bad memory drew her to speak to the only person she could have spoken to about this: Ned.

She'd walked into his solar one particular night, months ago seeing him frowning at papers on his desk.

He'd been worried, she could tell. "News from Essos and from King's Landing," he'd told her, gesturing at two letters. "Robert has risen in the ranks of the Golden Company again."

By that name alone, her thoughts on Joan had nearly been banished from her mind. Ned, much to her dismay, still considered Robert Baratheon a friend. And consorting with this particular friend could spell death for her and her entire family.

To her, Robert Baratheon was a tragic fool.

At the Trident, when Rhaegar rode with a peace banner and begged the others to turn to overthrow the Mad King, the Lord of Storm's End was the only one who refused. He fled to Essos and the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms had put him out of their minds, too concerned with Aerys, and stabilizing a Kingdom that still seemed on the brink of open warfare. But Ned would receive notes of what Robert had done in Essos. At first, she didn't know who it was that sent him these notes but when she did ask, he said that it was Varys, the Master of Whispers, and they were sent as a "courtesy."

"He is doing well for himself," she said.

"Aye, he is. It also says that he has a son who he's apprenticed to the Company's blacksmith."

She remembered asking if Robert had married.

He hadn't. The boy was a bastard. If he had an apprenticeship, then he was well taken care of. She couldn't think of a better life for the boy.

Then she drew the conversation away from the dangerous subject of Robert. The second paper on his desk drew her thoughts to slightly less dangerous subjects… and back to Joan. He looked down at the papers.

"News from King's Landing?" she'd asked.

The only time Ned and the King shared correspondence was years ago when Joan had disappeared. She'd heard rumors of course, everything from the King flying into a rage and tearing apart the Vale and the Riverlands in his search, to being quietly uncaring towards the situation. She wasn't sure which was true. And she never dared raise the subject to Ned.

He'd spoken of dragons, long held rumors of the mythical creatures return had been confirmed that night. The King had declared it a day of celebration for all the seven Kingdoms.

Three of them, one for each of the King's...children.

She remembered the fierce scowl on his features as he said the last word. King Rhaegar had married Lyanna Stark before a heart tree. To the Northerners, that meant Joan was a trueborn child.

But the faith thought otherwise.

To have heard the King declare a day of celebration, that they had three dragons for 'His three children' must have made her Ned beyond furious against a man he quietly loathed.

She'd almost lost her courage to speak of Joan just then, fearing to blacken his mood even further. But she'd pressed on. Knowing her husband could be as quiet as his niece when he chose to be. Knowing that she had to strike now while his anger still burned.

So she'd asked him, told him of her suspicions, her belief that _something_ must have happened to the poor girl in King's Landing.

Asked if she'd confided anything in him…if there was something she was doing wrong.

Ned's eyes had darkened then, the lines etching onto his face, turning her husband into a harsh creature of ice for that instant.

"She's begged me to not speak of it to anyone." He shook his head. "I promised, Cat. I won't break her trust." She'd frowned. Her husband's sense of Honor was a famous thing. He would not break his word. Not for anyone.

And as such, the conversation was done. Eddard never spoke another word of it, or King's landing at all.

And Catelyn had let him keep his silence. But still, it was there, gnawing at her, insisting.

She'd decided to give Joan a wide berth. Hoping distance and time would cure the girl's fear of her.

It was why she said nothing about Arya when she learned of it weeks ago. It was why she did not balk at the notion that Joan was devoting herself so much to her practices that she was becoming better than Robb with a weapon in her hand.

But still Joan hadn't looked at her, would never seek her out.

And Catelyn realized, just then, that Joan never would.

She was like her Ned. A child of ice that does not melt unless forced to do so, something that will never be warm unless one made themselves warm around it.

And so, it was that night, as she left Sansa, Jeyne and Bethany behind her, that she decided to follow her niece moving through the hallways of Winterfell before knocking quietly at her bedroom door "Lady Stark," Joan said, standing up from her chair and offering a curtsey that was, frankly, cringe worthy by a southern lady's standards. Catelyn made no mention of it, and Joan would again not meet her eyes. "Is there something you need?"

"Yes dear," she answered, trying to sound as gentle as possible. "I wanted to talk to you for a moment."

"About what?" she asked.

She reached out and lifted the girl's face up. She saw grey eyes, Arya's eyes, afraid. "I know that something happened to you in King's Landing, something that's made you afraid of me." The eyes widened in even more fear. "I will not ask what it is that made you afraid. But know this: I am a Tully. Our words are 'Family, Duty, Honor.' You are my family. You will never have cause to fear me."

Joan's eyes turned sad then. She looked at Catelyn with a strange, forlorn longing. Beneath the mix of brashness and politeness, beneath the warmth and coolness that she exhibited, there was a fragile girl who wanted to be loved but was afraid of being scorned for it. To Catelyn's quiet dismay, Joan looked away again. But this time, the eyes did not stay down. They came back up, as if forcing herself to look at Lady Catelyn in the eye. . "I thought you would be like the queen," she said. "You wouldn't want me near your children."

Those words made Catelyn realized what had happened to Joan in the capital. She was treated as an outsider in her own home. She wondered if her brother and sisters had been the same. If the queen scorned her presence, perhaps she made her children act the same. "I am not her, Joan," she reassured the girl.

Joan looked at her for a long time, as if seeing her for the first time.

Catelyn would say no more that day.

It was slow, a quiet sort of change that could be called glacial. But the change did come from her quiet niece. Catelyn doubted she would ever enjoy the relationship Joan shared with her children, or her husband. The scars were too deep for that…too engrained.

But neither would she be an Elia Martell in her memories.

 **Rhaenys**

(Location: Winterfell)

The air felt too cold and sharp. If Rhaenys breathed out, she could see her breath misting in the air. She shivered and bunched closer in her furs. "You had to bring me along on a hunt," she said to Aegon, glaring at him.

He rode beside her. He was clad in as much furs as she was and also carried a hunting spear. They followed Lord Stark, his son and heir, and the hunting party through the Wolfswood. "You're the one who wanted to see the North for what it was, Rhae," he told her. "What better way to do than through a hunt?"

She was thinking more about doing it by visiting the rest of the land, the villages, the castles, even the Wall and the Night's Watch. Not by seeing the wildlife, the plants, or the trees. She didn't want to be on a hunt. "I was thinking something other than this. Gods, I wish I was back at Winterfell."

He rolled his eyes. "You mean back in Winterfell's library with Moonfyre draped across your shoulders. You've done that to every castle we've gone to on this tour."

She glared at him. When the dragons were big enough to fly on their own, their father had sent them on a tour around Westeros. The intention was to show the power of their house to the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. Each land they had gone to, even the Iron Islands (who only admitted it sullenly), were awed and impressed by their dragons. But the North, their last stop, did not seem so surprised, or at least, not as outwardly surprised. She just supposed it came down to the fact that the children of Lord Stark had direwolves, something that none of them had expected.

The last she'd heard of direwolves beyond the Wall was… around the same time dragons had disappeared actually. She had been fascinated by the wolves when she saw them, and had almost immediately asked if she could pet them. Arya Stark had said it was okay, but only if she got to touch Moonfyre as well. To which Rhaenys gladly accepted.

Of course dragons were superior, but wolves, in her mind anyway… were prettier.

She leaned to the side and saw Grey Wind, Robb Stark's direwolf, padding close to his master.

Now _that_ one she could do without. Grey Wind was the only wolf that had been hostile to her, even 'Shaggydog' a fearsome black beast, that could snarl so loudly one could hear through a stone wall, hadn't raised a tooth their way.

Grey Wind however was all bared teeth and tucked ears, trading snarls and hisses with all of the dragon hatchlings as well. Utterly fearless, or stupid. Probably both.

Aegon chuckled at her look. "I swear you live up to Father's name for you."

That made her glare at him. "I am not his little maester!" she snapped, growing all the more irritated when he sniggered. That title had been endearing when she a girl. Now it just felt like an embarrassment.

All because she would rather pick up a book and read than take to the yard. Their little sister had been wise enough to train with Ser Jaime in the yard when the hunting party was being made. She had an excuse when asked.

He looked at the Starks and then leaned in close to her. "I know this isn't exactly your favorite past time, Rhae. But were you really going to leave me alone with Lord Stark and his son?"

No. No, she would not.

Ever since they came to Winterfell with Ser Jaime, Ser Lewyn, and their small retinue, Lord Stark, his wife, and their firstborn son had been polite to them. But it was just politeness and it carried an inflection of no small degree of reticence from Lord Stark himself.

It would seem strange. But she knew the history of their respective houses, and knew well enough that Lord Stark had very little love for their father because of it. When they'd written from the Neck, their father had sent a raven, pleading with them to leave the Starks be. But, as what brought on the war in the first place she felt that he was missing the wider consequences of his actions.

It would have been a grave insult to not visit the Warden of the North on their tour of the North. Not to mention a severe sign of weakness. Their father probably feared for their safety, but Ned Stark's "honor" was famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms. He might not welcome their presence but she doubted they had any real cause to fear he would allow them to come to any harm.

Oddly enough, Lord Stark did not interfere at all in their interactions with his children. They were able to befriend the rest of the Stark brood easily, Rhaenys charming Sansa and telling her all about the capital, Visenya teaching Arya how to use a sword, though the girl seemed to have some training already, truth be told, and Aegon doing the same for Brandon while also being able to play with Rickon.

It was only the heir and Lord Stark himself that gave off an air that said they would much rather see the back of them.

As they rode on, she looked around. The wolfswood was all around her and it almost felt like it engulfed her senses. It was (though she'd never admit it to Aegon) wonderful. But it also made her think of something else, or rather someone. "Do you think that she'd have liked it here?" she asked Aegon in a whisper.

"Who, 'Senya?" he shook his head. "No. Do you remember the hunt in the Riverlands? If our mother heard her she'd—"

"No, I mean Joan." She interrupted. His purple eyes lost the amusement the moment she said that name.

He kicked at his horse and didn't answer. The subject of their lost sister was a… complicated one, for all of them.

When she was a child, she could only remember how quiet Joan had been. Frankly, her memories allowed for little else. Their mother would always either take them away or send her out when she came to them.

Soon, enough the attitude became the norm and they kept doing it to her even when Mother wasn't in the room. They had even figured out that if they did something wrong and blamed it on her, their mother would believe them and not her.

Truly...children could be cruel things.

When they left the Eyrie to return home, it had taken them _hours_ to discover Joan was not with them. Father believed she was riding in the carts, they believed she was riding outside. It was only when they reached the crossroads inn near nightfall, where Ser Jaime was with a few of the other Kingsguard waiting for them that he asked the simple question.

Father had immediately ordered the Kingsguard to return and escort Joan to them.

They didn't return for two days. When they finally did return, it was Ser Jaime again at the head, his face had been ashen and his horse nearly dead.

Joan was nowhere to be found.

Their father had sent men throughout the Riverlands and the Vale to find her. Taking up the search himself with six of the Kingsguard and scattering them through both kingdoms, tearing apart every hovel and overturning every stone.

She, Egg, Visenya and Mother had been sent back to the Red Keep with Ser Lewyn. They didn't see father for nearly four moons. Not until he had to return to the capital without Joan.

She hadn't cared. On the quiet, dark corners of her mind she could admit that it'd been far worse than simply "not caring."

Their mother _hated_ Joan. So when she disappeared, Rhaenys had simply…rejoiced. Her mother didn't have to live with the shame on her and father anymore.

And then she grew up. The years rolled by one after another. She might never have grown to care without staying in Dorne, without Uncle Oberyn and Uncle Doran.

Both had equal cause to hate Joan, as much as Mother did. But they didn't. And every year, on the date of her disappearance, Uncle Doran would light a candle to the Mother, and the Stranger for Joan. He never said anything, never said why. She suspected that sometimes he too hated her, and was trying to atone in his own way.

So she'd grown up, became perhaps a little wiser, and with those eyes that had grown up away from their mother and with Ellaria, a bastard woman who was more noble than half the ladies in the Red Keep, the truth gnawed at her, ate her from the inside whenever the memories bubbled up to the surface.

Strangely, the day it hit her hardest was when the royal family had visited Highgarden.

It had been during one of the evening meals, with Willas, Garlan, Loras, and Margaery. They'd been trading stories with the three Targaryens, and the comment had come from Loras. Re-enacting some childish argument about how Margery had taken Loras' practice sword and broken it. And Margery had screamed back that she hated him. Then she apologized by taking a stick from the woods the next day and trying to carve it into a sword.

They laughed. It was a good memory to them.

And it had _hit_ her in that moment, with all the subtlety of a warhammer to the skull. There was no 'stick' for her to carve. There was no 'good memory' to be reconciled. For all she knew, her sister was long dead. Her memories of Joan were empty things, accented by her occasional cruelty. It had been all she could do to excuse herself politely before she began crying.

It was with tentative voices that Joan was even brought up anymore. She wasn't sure how Egg of Visenya felt, or even how her father felt. Some days it seemed that her whole family had pushed away all memory of her just for the luxury of not needing to examine their actions.

"She's somewhere in Westeros, Rhae," her brother finally said; startling her. He was quiet enough so that Lord Stark and Robb would not overhear. _That_ would certainly not go well. "One day, perhaps we'll find her again."

A part of her hoped he was right. Though it was a fool's hope she knew. Lone women did not survive long in Westeros, and if she had, Joan had no reason to ever return.

They were silent for a time, stopping their horses for a drink of a stream that hadn't iced over. Lord Stark called to them, stating that there were tracks in the snow, fresh ones, and they mounted again.

Once more, Aegon startled her as he spoke. "I wonder what her reaction is going to be like when she finds out I'm married to both you and 'Senya."

In spite of his serious tone, she couldn't help but laugh. It just sounded so ridiculous when he said it like that. The three of them had always been close, since they were children.

When Father declared that Aegon would marry both Rhaenys and Visenya, they didn't object. But what all three of them did object to was the fact that their lives seemed controlled by their father. He told them again and again that they would be the ones who would save Westeros from destruction and that they had to be ready for it. It was why Rhaenys had to learn how to use a sword even though she didn't want to and it was clear she had little talent for it. It was something that they hated about their father, his obsession with prophecy. It was why they chose to rebel in small ways, such as refusing to name their dragons with traditional Valyrian names. Instead Rhaenys name her green dragon Moonfyre, Visenya called her blue dragon Seawing, and Aegon declared his black dragon was Fang.

The party came to a halt suddenly. Both Aegon and Rhaenys rode to the front. "What is it, Lord Stark?" Aegon asked. "Did we find prey?"

"No," Lord Stark said shortly.

Rhaenys looked and saw a dead moose on the ground, close to a tree. She had never seen a moose before. It looked like a deer, but bigger. The antlers were bigger too and looked much more solid. The snout didn't look the same as a deer. This had a more rounded look to it. But none of these held much matter to the fact that there were arrows in it. There was one in the flank and one in the heart. "Is there another hunter out here?" she asked.

"Likely," said Robb Stark shortly. Dropping from his horse and kneeling down, examining the fletching on the arrows. It was just for a moment, and, frankly, she thought she'd imagined it, but years in the courts of the Red Keep had given her an eye for such things.

Robb Stark became tense. He stood up quickly moving back to his horse and trying desperately to seem nonchalant and looking all the more stiff because of it. "We will have to find someplace else to hunt." He sounded in a rush, something that was confusing. It seems Starks were poor liars.

Aegon looked at him curiously. "Why?" The Stark looked at him foully but he was undeterred. "These are your lands Lord Stark. I understand things are different in the north but surely a hunter in the woods is no cause for the Warden of the North to just… _leave_."

Aegon was right, the notion was absurd.

Lord Stark took his reins in hand. "No, Robb is right," he declared quickly. "Another hunter might confuse us for prey in the snowfall and fire."

Rhaenys raised a slender eyebrow. "We could just wait here. Likely the hunter went to get some equipment to drag the beast to their village. He returns, we tell him we're here and to watch his aim." She shrugged. Really, Ned Stark was cold and aloof but was he a simpleton? She hadn't thought so.

Ned Stark's face looked as though it'd been carved from stone before he spoke. "Your safety is my responsibility, your Highness. As such we will go now—"

A white blur burst out of the bushes. When it stopped before the moose, she saw that it was a direwolf with fur as white as snow. Grey Wind yipped in joy at the sight of the other wolf. It turned to look and she saw that its eyes were blood red.

Then, much to their surprise, the voice of a woman came out of the forest, cursing to all seven hells and back before finally stumbling out of some thickened foliage, dragging a sleigh of some kind behind her.

She looked up at them and froze.

Rhaenys did the same.

She was different, a woman grown now with hair that seemed longer than any of theirs, tied back with a bow on her back and arrows in her quiver, wearing furs and long cloaks instead of silks.

But that face was unmistakable.

It was Joan. She was different. The little girl that lived in her memories died away and was replaced by the woman in front of her. She looked like the Starks. A version Arya Stark could grow into. Lean in body and long in the face. Her dark hair was pulled back into a tail but there was a strand that fell out of place over her left eyebrow. It was a thing that didn't ruin the wild kind of beauty her sister had become but rather added to it somehow.

She looked at the hunting party. "Uncle?" she said in surprise before breaking into a smile. "What are you doing…?" she trailed off when she saw who was beside Lord Stark. Her grey eyes, just moments ago warm with joy and good-natured curiosity, hardened into something entirely different.

Aegon found his voice first. "Joan?" His voice was a hesitant thing, disbelieving of who was standing right in front of him. When he finally seemed to catch up to it he spoke a bit more clearly though still patently off balance at the sudden surprise. "It's…good to see you?"

Joan seemed to straighten where she stood, working her jaw in a manner that looked so much like the taciturn Lord Stark she could have passed for _his_ daughter and it was clear when she spoke that she was trying very hard to keep her voice level. "What are you doing here?" She turned her gaze onto Rhaenys. "What are _you_ doing here?"

She wished she could say she was surprised at the barely held back hostility, but she was not, and it was all she could do not to wince under the gaze of her sister. . When her voice finally seemed to work again, the first words out of her mouth were an incredulous "What am _I_ doing here?" she started, before turning to Lord Stark. "Did you know she was here, all this time?"

The Warden of the North said nothing, his cold eyes staring resolutely ahead at some spot in the woods. He barely managed to keep his upper lip from curling in a complete sneer.

It was answer enough.

It explained so much. She'd believed that Lord Stark's dislike of them was an inheritance due to the actions of their father. But that would be strange because he never stopped them from becoming friends with his other children.

No. He'd been hostile to them because he wanted them _gone_. He wanted Joan to be allowed to _come back_ to Winterfell. Not stay hiding out here. More than that, Robb Stark and Catelyn Stark's hostility now had a _root_. They were not Ned Stark. They had not known Lyanna Stark. Only Joan. _"Oh seven hells,"_ she thought. _"She told them."_ Of course she did. Why wouldn't she? She had no reason to hide the treatment she'd received with them in the Red keep. Not from her _family._

Suddenly the woods felt colder, and Targaryen and Stark banners flapped in the winter wind, reminding Rhaenys of Grey Wind, snarling at the hissing Moonfyre.

 **Visenya**

(Location: Winterfell)

Visenya sat at her place at the high table and watched her half-sister talking animatedly with Arya Stark with a shortening temper. Four days ago, that girl looked at her like she was the best thing in Westeros. Now, the Stark girl couldn't be bothered to look her way. All her attention was on Joan.

Frankly, it made Visenya want to—

"Stop doing that," Rhae whispered from her left, poking at her side.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at Joan like you want to burn her with Seawing," she said.

Not exactly a bad idea… though she doubted their hosts would share her enthusiasm. She diverted her attention, watching the northern lords behave like a bunch of rowdy brigands, trying to put her mind out of it.

She wasn't wholly sure why her sister's presence was irritating her so very much. But it was there. Deciding to poke fun at Rhaenys' concern she whispered back. "Can you cover for me while I go get her?" Her sister smacked on the arm, rather hard really. Visenya grinned even as she rubbed the pain away. "Don't tell me you're not thinking the same thing." She poked, eyeing her eldest sister.

"I'm not." Rhaenys should have looked like she was lying. At best, she should have looked completely apathetic one way or another. But, if anything, she looked…sad.

Visenya didn't know why. Joan was better off gone as far as she was concerned; and her presence did nothing dissuade her of the idea. Ever since Joan rode into Winterfell with the hunting party, she was at best, short, blunt, and sullen, at least as far as anyone in the Targaryen camp was concerned, with the possible exception of Ser Jaime. To others, she was kind, warm, and able to laugh or smile. They rarely saw that side of her, seeing it only when they caught her unawares. If any of them made their presence known, her attitude would freeze faster than ice water.

She didn't want her sister sad. She wanted her angry. She wanted her to feel the same outrage she felt. "So, have you talked to Sansa recently?" she asked, knowing full well that the eldest Stark girl and Rhae were getting on fine.

Rhae paused in sipping from her wine. "I tried. Joan came into the room and said that she needed Sansa for something. They left and didn't come back."

"Really?" asked Aegon from their right. He was the closest to the Starks but the distance between them might as well have been a gorge. "She did the same thing to me when I offered Brandon a chance to spar. She just walked right up to us, asked the boy if he had found any new climbing spots, and they just walked away."

Honestly, it seemed like no matter where Joan was in the castle, her sole objective was to put as much proverbial distance between the Starks them. If she wasn't in the training yard with Robb Stark or Theon Greyjoy, she was either with Sansa knitting (always knitting, never embroidery), or taking lessons with Maester Luwin alongside Arya, Bran, or Rickon.

Certainly, if they _insisted_ they could…invite themselves as it were. But from there it was terribly awkward to say the very least. It even extended to their retinue, or at least part of it. Before they got to Winterfell, Ser Jaime trained with Visenya nearly every day without prodding. Now, it seemed like he was sparring against Joan more than he did with her.

"Why is she doing this?" Visenya wondered aloud, trying to not sound as angry as she genuinely felt.

"Poetic justice?" suggested Aegon. He had a bitter hint to his tone.

Rhae looked at him pointedly. "There's nothing poetic about it. We know why she's doing this. She doesn't want this family to be too influenced by us."

Visenya didn't know what she was talking about. She chose to keep glaring at her half-sister. She didn't have a lot of memories of Joan when they were kids. She was always on the outskirts of her world until she simply wasn't there anymore. Visenya didn't care. She was more concerned about her big sister and brother.

She didn't have _time_ for Joan or her sullen nature. Egg was being trained to be king and Rhae went through all the books in the Red Keep's library and then any she could get her hands on. Visenya knew there were expectations on her shoulders too; an expectation for her to contribute. And so she'd focused on becoming a warrior. She gave it everything she had and soon people began talking about how she rode a horse, wielded a sword and a lance. They spoke of how she fought just as well as Aegon, if not better.

That was her focus, even then. Not Joan. If her sister and brother had some insight from those early years, it was lost on her. Frankly, as far as she'd ever cared to wonder, Joan was dead. Their father's search had been a fruitless one.

And then Joan rode back into their lives

She had learned from Arya that Joan had not lived in Winterfell for some months now but in a small cottage out in the wolfswood. She lived off the land, hunting her own food, carving out her own life for herself. Visenya could never imagine doing something like that. She couldn't imagine hunting down an animal in order to eat it.

Another thing that made her feel less was just how beautiful her half-sister looked. Now, Visenya knew that she was beautiful herself, with her mother's olive skin and her father's purple eyes. Her hair was truly where they came together. It was blonde as Aegon's hair but fell in careless ringlets like Rhaenys's. But Joan was a wild beauty. Her grey eyes could be alluring when warm and seeing her hair pulled back into that ponytail made Visenya wonder what it would look like out of it. The thing was, she didn't look like she put any effort into making herself beautiful. She didn't even look she cared if she was beautiful or not.

It just made her madder. "I still think that setting Seawing on her would be good." She could have a laugh watching Joan try to put out the fire on her clothes or hair.

Rhaenys smacked her again. "Stop it." Her sister's vice was sharp, clipped. There was a silence between them and the Targaryen sisters did their best to put their minds on other subjects, or at the very least, find some kind of distraction.

Finally it was Aegon who spoke. "I found her with the dragons this morning."

That got their attention. "What? What was she doing there?" Visenya asked, casting a suspicious look at Joan. "Was she trying to steal them?"

Aegon shrugged. "I don't know. When I tried confronting her about, she just walked right past me without a word."

"Lady Visenya!" roared one of the Umbers from where he sat. Many Northern bannermen had come to the feast. They paid only lip service to the Targaryens, choosing to focus on the Starks. This was the first time one of them had actually called out for them. Though Visenya was a little irritated by the phrase. She was a princess, not a lady.

Still, he called for her and she must reply. "Yes, my lord?" she called out to him. He ignored her staring resolutely past her. It was as strange as it was insulting. Anger started to bubble up in her at his disrespect. She opened her mouth to speak, to rain fire from her tongue, but a sharp look from Rhae stopped that. Rhae could always do that to her, ordering her with a single glance. So instead, she asked, "My lord?"

Again, the Umber ignored her. Visenya was about to let her anger have voice, to hell with Rhaenys' look or wishes. "Lord Umber, my name is Joan," spoke her half-sister. "Is there you something wish of me?

Visenya felt herself go cold. She'd known, intellectually that her _name_ had been _Joan's_ name first, until their father's obsession with prophecy had driven him to take Joan's name and give it to her. It was the first time, however, that fact was so open and brazenly thrown in her face. As if reprimanding her for it.

Umber smiled. A nasty, thin thing that Visenya just _knew_ was directed at her even though he never looked her way. "Might we have an indulgence of you to play, my lady?" Lord Umber asked. "It's one of the joys coming to Winterfell!" The hall roused with shouted agreement at the idea. Joan smiled, standing from her place at the chair to the cheers of the Northmen.

" _She can play?"_ The thought made Visenya burn with a quiet envy. She looked to Egg and Rhae. They were surprised too. None of them could play or sing. It was the one thing they didn't get from their father. But it went to Joan?

A northern servant girl scurried out of a hallway, smiling as she handed Joan a stringed instrument, a box-like thing that was curved along the edges and steel wires strung along the top side, place her chin on it, and readied a bow.

Visenya could not take her eyes off her. She played with a lightness that seemed somehow airy yet fast at the same time and for the first time since she rode into Winterfell's gates alongside the sullen Lord Stark, Joan looked like their father rather than some Northern barbarian.

Other instruments joined her, making the music fuller but she was still at the center of it. When she moved from her place, something unexpected, she looked like she danced with a light step. She walked through the hall, playing the instrument with enjoyment. She swayed with the music as she walked. It almost looked like her entire body was playing it. When she turned back to the high table, Visenya saw that her eyes were closed. She played her music with passion and walked without needing to look. It was enrapturing.

Then the music ended and the hall erupted into cheers. It was the Umber and Mormont men that cheered loudest; defiantly chanting "Visenya!" again and again. It made the _real_ Visenya burn with a fury and her hatred of her half-sister grew again. The fury stayed until the feast was beginning to wind down, with the invited lords and their men retiring for the night.

Her temper always burned hot. Her mother said she was like her uncle Oberyn in that. Whether it was Targaryen or Dornish in nature it didn't matter, because as she willed herself to walk the steps to her rooms the fire in her gut made her whirl right around and make her way to Joan's rooms.

She shoved the door to her sister's rooms open. Joan turned from the fire, her fingers halfway through bringing her tunic up over her body, revealing her skin underneath. She saw Visenya and her eyes went wide. "What are you doing here?" she asked, pulling the shirt back down fast. Her eyes darted around the room, looking for something.

She didn't care. "What did you do up here?" she asked. It was a loaded question, completely _inadequate_ to the sheer volume of questions she actually had, but it was the best her anger would let her speak at the moment. "What did you do to make the northerners turn against your own family?"

Those grey eyes stopped moving and came to look at her, gaze hardening into steel. "I didn't do anything. House Targaryen did it themselves." Her lip curled, looking at Visenya with a condemnation few had ever dared. "The North doesn't take kindly to name-stealers."

She didn't expect that to be a reason. It just seemed so… _petty_. "That's all!?" she demanded. "It's only a name!"

Joan's eyes seemed to burn the firelight. "It made _you_ angry enough."

Visenya felt her lip curl, caught in the proverbial trap.

Joan drew herself up to her full height. Stark genes had blessed her with almost half a head over Visenya, staring down at her younger sister. "It was _my_ name before you were born. Once you came slithering out of your bitch of a mother, it was taken from me and I was left nameless for two years. _Two. Years._ Until I gave myself one."

"Don't you dare call my mother that," she warned her, stepping closer to her.

"I'll call your mother what I damn well want."

She stepped closer to her, feeling her fist tighten the urge to punch this half a wildling _bastard_ was almost overwhelming. "My mother is not a bitch. She is a kind and loving woman. While you're nothing but a filthy—"

"A filthy _what_!?" growled Joan, getting right in Visenya's face, snarling like some beast, eyes glinting like flint knives. "Well, go on! _Go on and say it!_ "

There was a sudden knock at the door. A hard, quick thing that seemed to be done more out of politeness than anything else, seeing as how the person didn't wait for an answer before pushing it open, revealing none other than Lady Stark.

The guards at the door may not have stopped her, but they weren't idle either. "Princess Visenya." She curtsied. "I was not expecting you here."

"Of course you weren't," the youngest Targaryen hissed before rounding on her heel and marching out the door. Lady Stark did not follow.

Rounding the corner towards another hallway, she all but ran straight into Egg and Rhaenys. "Senya!" her brother said in surprise.

She wondered what they were doing here when their rooms were on the other side of the castle "Egg, Rhae," she said.

She stopped when she saw Lord Stark standing behind them, still dressed from the feast, features carved out of ice as he stared at the three dragons with all the warmth of the bloody Wall "Your Highnesses," said Lord Stark, making Egg and Rhae turn to look at him. "If you will please follow me," It would sound like a request coming from anyone else. .

"And why should we?" Rhae asked him, it was clear that the tension was beginning to wear on her. She was normally the most diplomatic of the three, but even her patience was wearing thin of Stark's hardly hidden dislike of them.

He was not impressed. "You are guests underneath my roof, Princess Rhaenys. As your host, I am well in my rights to ask you three for a moment to speak about your sister, my niece." He turned and walked down the corridor.

They followed him until they reached his solar. A fire was going in the pit, keeping the room warm. Lord Stark went to his seat but there were no other chairs in the room. They were forced to stand before his desk like disobedient children. Visenya didn't like the blatant attempt at intimidation.

The silence stretched on for a time before Stark spoke, bluntly and without preamble. "I am disappointed in King Rhaegar."

"You speak of the king, Lord Stark," Visenya warned him. "Watch what you say next."

He looked at her hard. "When the king has made my niece feel that she could only find solace and comfort in the Mad King I had tried to overthrow, or that she needed to flee to the North to find her _family_. I do not have it in me to mince words and courtesies."

"Of course," Egg said, taking the reins of the conversation. "We…understand that our past actions and treatment of Joan was…" He paused, as if trying to find the proper word, before finally giving up. "But… even so Lord Stark, how you and Lord Arryn conspired to spirit her to the north and keep her hidden was—" He stopped. Lord Stark's face made it clear enough. That was the wrong thing to say.

"Do you think that Lord Arryn had simply sent her north, Prince? He didn't. She came to the North with Domeric Bolton, Lord Bolton's son. She _fled_ from you at no one's encouragement but her own. And before he could bring her to Winterfell, he was killed by his bastard brother. That same brother decided to hunt Joan for sport, setting dogs on her."

This…this part of the story they hadn't known about. Visenya had heard stories of 'The Bastard of Bolton' along their tour of the kingdoms. His cruelty had been gaining quite a bit of notoriety before Lord Stark had literally cut his infamy rather short. Guess now they knew why.

"Her life was only saved when a group of wildings found her and chased away the dog that had finally caught her. She still has a scar on her hip from where it tore at her. The wildings took her back over the Wall. She lived there, out in the coldness and away from any of her family for three years. She might have stayed there forever had the raiding party she had joined chose not to try go over the Wall. Her life was only spared because she surrendered to my brother. When she was brought to Winterfell she was a quiet and frightened girl, who stayed away from everyone." He stood, leaning on the desk. "And that is all owed to _you_."

It was like a curse on his lips. "I don't care to hear your or your father's explanations as to what happened in years past. I don't care to have you all knowing she's alive. You coped well enough when she was dead. Though I know it's too much to hope for that word will not reach King's Landing as soon as you are south of the Neck. What I will _request_ of you, your Highnesses, is that you leave this place soon, and leave her in peace."

It was an absurd demand. Something no house in the Seven Kingdoms' would dare utter to a member of the royal family. But here was Lord Stark, staring at the three of them, and all but demanding they leave his house.

They were Targaryens with dragons once again.

The man must be insane.

"Lord Stark," it was Rhae who spoke. Her earlier irritation gone, replaced by a despondent sort of resignation. "Could we do anything to fix what has happened?"

"I don't believe that there is," Ned Stark said to them. "That is why I ask you to leave. Leave Winterfell and the North," he repeated. "Your tour of Westeros is over. The dragons have been seen by all the Seven Kingdom's. Go back to the south and leave Joan be."

They looked at each other. Visenya knew she was trying to believe that she had misheard the man. But her ears were clear and sound of hearing. He hadn't misled or deceived them. "Lord Stark, we cannot leave without Joan," Egg said in reply. "The king has ordered us to bring her back if we found her."

"He ordered you. I have yet to hear those orders from him. Joan will stay here in the North, where she wants to be. She will not go back with you."

Egg recovered and tried to speak. "Lord Stark—"

He fell silent when Lord Stark stared him down. He wasn't alone in that feeling. Visenya had it too. She took one look at Rhae and saw she had it too. "When my lady wife suggested that Joan could back down to King's Landing to let her family know that she was alive, she panicked and nearly shut herself away from everyone. It took me two days to coax her back, promising her that I would never send her south if she didn't want to go. When you found her in the wolfswood, I knew that my promise would be tested. I don't intend to break it. So I will ask you again: please leave Winterfell in the morning." He straightened, moving from behind his desk, past them and out the door without another word.

They left the room quietly after that. Almost slinking away like cowardly beasts. Lord Stark had all but tacitly declared that he was willing to go to war for Joan to remain in the north if it came down to it. Visenya fell into an uneasy, fitful sleep that night, feeling exposed, surrounded by these northerners who looked at the Targaryen banner like a guest that had worn out their welcome rather than their rulers, all because of the sister that looked at them like trespassers rather than any sort of family.

 **Robb**

(Location: Winterfell)

Usually, seeing his cousin Joan ride through Winterfell's gate was cause to make Robb stop whatever it was he was doing and go get his siblings. Arya never left her side when she was here, and Joan was always willing to go and watch Bran climb. But now, by the look on her face alone he could tell now wouldn't be the best time for it.

She caught sight of him and smiled. It didn't fully reach her eyes. She dismounted and led her horse to the stables. He descended from the walls and approached. Ghost padded close, still as quiet as ever. He reached his hand out, and the snow white beast nuzzled his head into his palm as Grey Wind bounded through the courtyard, excited to see his brother again. "Joan," he called, "Is everything alright?"

"I guess, it would depend," she answered, not looking at him. She was more concerned about getting her horse settled.

That in itself was concerning. While Joan _could_ ride, it was hardly her forte, and caring for the horse she used was a job she was more than willing to delegate to the stable boys. If she was doing this…then she was stalling.

He took note of a sword and a bow slung against the saddle. The hilt of the sword was a remarkable thing of gold with a ruby red jewel in its pommel. Hardly something he expected her to be carrying around. The bow as well looked easily as tall as Joan and was made from weirwood. There was a satchel resting against the saddle as well.

Finally, after nearly five minutes of settling the horse, it seemed his cousin realized she could not put off whatever this was forever. Grabbing bow, blade and bag, she carried all three, and held the satchel like it was the most delicate treasure of them all. "Robb is your father busy?" she asked him, holding the urn close to her chest.

Now he knew she was stalling. "Father will make time for you. He always has."

She'd gone off to the Wall almost a full two months ago. Her visits there weren't exactly unheard of. But he had to wonder what had disturbed her so much this last time.

"Is he in his solar?"

"I believe so. Otherwise we can check the godswood."

"Thanks." She walked into the castle. He followed after her, both curious and slightly concerned about how strange she was acting.

Grey Wind and Ghost remained in the yard. She didn't object to his presence. The castle servants and guards bowed their heads as they went by, fists striking chest plates with small mutterings of 'My Lord' and 'Princess' in equal measure.

They came to Father's solar and Joan knocked on the door. "Come in," said Father. They came in and he looked up from his desk, a rare smile pulling at his lips. "Joan, you're back." He stood, abandoning the papers at his desk. "You were at the Wall a long time."

"Sorry, Uncle," she apologized, meaning it. "It wasn't my intention to make you worry."

"What kept you?"

Robb backed towards the door again. "I'll take my leave, Father."

She turned her head to look at him. "No, Robb. Her voice sounded… hesitant. It had been a while since he'd heard her like that. "Please stay."

He shut the door and marched back in, his curiosity and concern reaching entirely new heights. She looked back at the Warden of the North, seemingly shifting in nervous disquiet. "Maester Aemon is dead."

Ned Stark frowned, "I'd hoped it'd be a passing thing…but I suppose he would know better than any of us."

She nodded. "Thank you, for letting me go so he wouldn't be alone."

Robb's eyes fell to the satchel she held. It was just the right size for an urn…now that he looked at it. "Is that…?" He couldn't even ask the question.

But she knew and nodded. "Yes, his ashes." She gave the satchel a look of love tinged with sadness. Robb wasn't sure how close his cousin and the maester had been. Though he did know that the old maester wrote to her at least twice a month when he could. .

Joan seemed hesitant, biting at her lip. "He…asked me to take his ashes south, back to King's Landing." Robb and his father both seemed to take a deep breath at that.

Wolves never did well in the south, Joan even less so. She'd probably come here to ask for an escort of some kind. Something that could help guarantee that she'd be allowed to return as soon as her duty was done. To avoid her siblings, or her father trying to force her to remain south.

At least that's what Robb thought. It was a thought that was abruptly shattered at Joan's next words. "And…" She paused, almost like she was trying to force the words out. "And he wanted me to try and mend my ties with my…family."

Robb felt like he'd been kicked by a mule. It had been months since the Targaryens had left Winterfell and he felt his anger at the silver haired, purple eyed troupe bubbling back up to the surface.

He didn't know the whole story. He didn't _want_ to know the whole story. What he did know was enough to make his blood boil with quiet resentment to the arrogant flying lizards. And now she was being asked to go back and _stay_ there.

She could have lied. She could simply send a northern troop of soldiers to deliver the ashes and stay in the North where she was safe. But he knew his cousin well enough to know that if she promised someone something…she would do it.

Father was silent, thinking hard. When he spoke, he did not ask why she was here. Instead, he asked her, "Do you want to go back to King's Landing?"

"I don't know," she answered. "That place has horrible memories for me. But I promised Maester Aemon that I would take him back."

Father marched around his desk and walked over to her. He took her cheek in his hand and tilted her face to look at him. "Joan, you will have to go back to King's Landing. But you must never forget what and who you are. You might have the Targaryen name, but you have the blood of the Starks in you too. You were a pup when you left. You will return a wolf. Show them that. They may have fire, but you have winter in your veins."

"You can do it, Joan," Robb agreed. "You've got our stubborn nature. It's what sent Ser Lewyn back south the second time."

If there was one person his cousin hadn't liked just as much as her siblings, it would've been the Martell Kingsguard. The two of them could only glare at the other when the dragons were visiting but they never spoke to one another.

When Ser Lewyn rode back, explaining that the king had ordered him to guard Joan, she simply mounted her horse and rode off into the wolfswood. The Kingsguard had been sure that she would come back eventually and chose to wait. His waiting lasted a month before he finally rode back south, claiming that his niece had sent him a raven. She and her children needed his protection more than a girl who didn't show herself. Robb might've called him a liar, but there had been a raven that day.

She looked at him with an exasperated look. "It's not my fault that he didn't come with me. I told him that I was going back to my cottage." They both chuckled at that.

Father smiled slightly but became serious again. "I will have some men guard you to the capital," he told Joan.

She shook her head. "There's no need for you to do that, Uncle. I'll go by myself. The Harvest is here, men are needed to work the fields to get ready for winter."

Robb wanted to object to that. He knew full well that Joan would be able to protect herself if she journeyed alone but she was still his cousin, one that would be traveling the length and breadth of the Kingsroad to arrive at King's landing, with the North not even sending a token escort.

But… he also knew that she was right. And more than that, he was well aware that his Father's words to the Targaryen's hadn't been viewed well by any south of the Neck. An armed escort of northerners wouldn't be well received by any hearth for fear of guilt by association.

"Very well," Father acquiesced. "But stay the night so you can probably say your goodbyes."

She nodded. "Of course, Uncle," she smiled, a bittersweet thing that seemed frail as she realized it would be the last time she would see her cousins for many long years.

 **Daenerys**

(Location: Red Keep)

As Dany waited with the court, she kept herself busy admiring the three dragons at the feet of Aegon and his sisters. They were as large as hounds now and looked beautiful. Again, there was a twinge of jealousy in her stomach as she looked at them. It was wrong to have that jealousy. She should be glad that her family had dragons again.

Her brother, Viserys, had been the one who gave them dragons again, her dear brother who so many whispered was mad like their father. He had gone to the Free Cities to find an answer, driven to the very edge of the world for his boyhood dream to bring them back.

He had come back with an answer. But he'd also returned with an illness that was killing him.. He gave up his life by being burned alive with four dragon eggs. Three of them hatched.

The hatched dragons had waddled and stumbled over to Rhaegar's children but the fourth egg didn't have a crack. She couldn't help but be angry at that. She was a dragon herself, Viserys was her brother. Why would the egg not hatch for her?

Mother saw where her gaze went. "They are magnificent creatures," she said simply.

Dany didn't know if she said those words because they were true or to ease the jealousy burning inside her. "They are," she agreed.

Her mother looked at the doors of the throne room. Dany looked to the doors too. Lord Varys had reported that Joan had been sighted from the Dragon Gate. Rhaegar had sent Ser Jaime with a guard detachment to escort her to the Red Keep and had the court had assembled so they could greet her. If Dany were any judge she should be arriving right about—

The herald banged his staff against the floor suddenly, the noise echoing in the hall. Everyone fell silent at the sound. He called out the words in a clear voice "Presenting Princess Joan Targaryen." The hall doors were pushed open by two men in Targaryen colors and shields, twice as big as any man.

Joan walked through the doors, Ser Jaime standing at the hallway behind her. She approached the Iron Throne with the direwolf that Rhaenys said she had. A white beast twice the size of the largest dog Danny had ever seen. Soon enough he'd be the size of a small pony.

The court drew back from her, like waves parting around a rock. She didn't blame them really. Joan did not look like a Targaryen princess. She looked about as at home here as a knife stabbed into a table. The vibrant red and yellow hues of ladies dresses and dark blues and purples of nobleman's formal wear was contrasted sharply by her clothes of black and boiled leather. A black a traveling cloak over her body was the only thing that seemed even remotely fit for the silks of the court. It must have been a gift from Lord Stark. The material looked good enough. She was also holding something, something that was kept close to her side.

Daenerys glanced out the corner of her eye at Aegon and his sisters. He and Rhaenys looked at Joan with a hesitant… wariness, if she had to place it. Visenya seemed more disdainful than hesitant, staring at Joan as one would look at an unwelcome guest.

Joan made her way up the light steps, approaching the Iron Throne. She did not bow her head or bend her knee. She didn't even curtesy. She stood tall with a straight back as she looked at Rhaegar. "Father," she said.

Rhaegar looked down at her. He looked every ounce the king with the golden band that was the crown of Aegon V. But even though his face was stately, Daenerys could see the emotion in his eyes. Her brother was never one for public displays… but the joy was there. "Joan, you've come back to us," he said so all could hear. "Your brother and sisters had said that you would never leave the North."

"I had hoped to keep it so."

Dany could see that same joy, quiet as it had been, die just as quietly, replaced by sadness as the court gasped at her words. "Why have you come back then? Lord Stark's raven did not explain." Rhaegar's voice rolled through the hall, quieting the muttering noblemen.

Her face became mournful and sad. "Maester Aemon's watch has ended."

There was not much of a reaction from the court. Dany herself was only faintly aware of the Targaryen at the Wall. She had never gone to meet him (it was cold up North. Dragons don't do well in the cold, like wolves in the south.). Still, he was family and she felt sadden to know that he had passed.

Joan continued. "He bade me to take his ashes back to King's Landing, to be buried beneath the Great Sept."

"Then we shall prepare a ceremony to have them interned," Rhaegar declared.

Joan reached into a satchel that was hanging from her hip, pulling free a simple, black urn, tied closed with cord and rope.

Ser Barristan stepped forward, bowing politely. "Princess," he said, holding out his hands. Joan passed it to him, her eyes sad as she watched Barristan carry the remains away.

She remained in place, turning back to look at Rhaegar. Her brother looked down from his place on the throne. "Did he bid you to do something else?"

"He did," Joan replied, and this time, she looked uncomfortable. "He…asked me, as one last kindness, to come south and mend my ties with my family."

The hall was so quiet, one could have heard a pin drop, and Dany could almost see the cogs and wheels turning in the minds of all the would-be favored and aspiring meddlers that were trying to organize this new piece of the royal family into the game.

"It's because of that request why I haven't left King's Landing yet," she flatly declared.

Rhaegar looked down at her. "Thank you for the effort, Joan," he said with a kindness in his voice. Dany knew that he meant each word he said. "Welcome home."

She winced at that last word. She must've thought differently. But instead of saying what she thought, she said, "Maester Aemon gave me gifts to bring back south." She pulled out the clothed object and took the cloth off. As it fell to the ground, she held a sword in her hands. The sheathed blade was slender, the handle was golden and a ruby held the centerpiece. Daenerys didn't need to see the blade to know that it was Valyrian steel. She knew what the sword was, having seen its picture before.

She wasn't the only one to recognize it. Mother bit back a surprised sound as she looked at it. "Dark Sister," breathed out Rhaegar as he stared at the sword. The court let out a collective gasp at those words. A sword of House Targaryen had come back to them. "Where has it been?"

"Brynden Rivers took it with him when he journeyed to the Wall. He chose to keep it with him when he heard what happened with the children of Aegon V. 'If his children cannot obey him, why should the lords of Westeros?' he told Maester Aemon. Before he disappeared, he left this with him and he told me where to find it. Now I bring it back."

Danny expected her to stretch it out and hand it to Rhaegar. Instead, with a sharp turn to the right of the throne, she walked to her siblings, Dark Sister held out to them. Her direwolf sat still and quiet, staring at the Targaryen family with blood red eyes that seemed to judge them. Dany watched, wondering if she would give it to Aegon or Visenya. It made the most sense to her mind for the sword to go either to the heir to the Iron Throne or the namesake of its original wielder.

As she approached them, the dragons turned their heads towards her, and for the first time, the direwolf moved beside its master. Seawing approached, hissing quietly in warning. Joan stopped and Dany noted Visenya did nothing to call her dragon off. For now, however, the direwolf was at least twice the dragon's size and settled for staring it down with a disinterested look.

Dany was worried it would come to some form of violence between the two 'companions' when Rhaegar finally decided to intervene. "Visenya," he said once.

With a hissed command, Seawing flapped its wings, getting off the ground and approaching the stands that she and her siblings could use as perches. As it settled, the dragon stopped its hissing and looked at the wolf with what Dany could've sworn was speculative eye. Finally, it turned back to Moonfyre and Fang, squealing and chirping at them. The court seemed like it allowed themselves to release a collective breath and Joan continued.

To Dany's surprise however, she did not go to Aegon or Visenya. She went to Rhaenys. "For the eldest," she declared. "I'm sure that your skill with a sword will enable you to wield it properly."

Dany was stunned by the move. Then she became suspicious. Out of the three of them, Rhaenys had the least amount of skill with a sword, preferring a book and her mind as a weapon. Yet, she was the one being offered Dark Sister. Was it meant as an insult? She could see it being as such.

But Rhaenys did not say anything in return. She simply took the offered sword with a bow. "Thank you, Joan." Words so quiet Dany was sure no one but the family and those nearest too them could have a hope of hearing.

"You said that there were gifts, Joan," Rhaegar said.

"I did. I'm keeping Brynden Rivers' war bow. I'll have better use for it." She stared up at him in silent challenge. He didn't respond to it. She scowled but he still did nothing.

" _What is she waiting for?"_ Daenerys wondered. The direwolf padded to her side, brushing its head against her hand.

Joan stepped back, away from her three siblings before turning and marching, instead, to the left side of the throne, marching straight towards her. When she stopped in front of her, Danny could see that Joan was of a height with Aegon, but maybe a little shorter, standing a full head over her Targaryen aunt.

Dany wondered what she would do next. It was a feeling that made her nervous but also curious. "Daenerys," Joan said, her voice echoing throughout the hall, "I ask for your forgiveness." She said, bowing her head the slightest bit as she reached out and held Danny's hands.

The hold on them was gentle but she thought they were like iron too. She could only look at Joan. "What forgiveness?"

"For what I tried to do to you when we were children," she answered.

Dany was disquieted by the meaning. She remembered that day all too well. Joan had asked if she wanted to see something and she had said yes. It was only when she saw where they were going, up the tower that none of the children were allowed to go up, that she started to have doubts. She tried to stop but Joan insisted that she come. It quickly became a struggle and she screamed, getting the attention of Ser Gerold.

That was the last time she'd ever really seen Joan. A week later Mother had left the Red Keep, and gone to Dragonstone, chased by renewed nightmares. She had been taken to Dragonstone too. By the time she'd returned to the Keep, Joan was gone. It truly was tragic that their last interaction had gone so terribly.

She looked past Joan and saw that the entire court was watching. Were they hoping that she would reject her? She could, but what happened was well over a decade ago. She had long since learned that it had been her father locked up in that tower. "You are forgiven, Joan," she finally said.

Joan sighed in relief, her strong posture sagging for a brief moment. She was actually worried that she would be rejected. "Thank you." She stepped back and looked at Mother. "Queen Rhaella, I heard about my uncle. I am sorry that I never had the chance to meet him." Mother didn't say anything. Staring at Joan with an expression that could have been carved from weirwood and offering only a single nod.

Joan stepped away, back to the foot of the steps that led to the throne, staring at them all like some amassed force she was suddenly arrayed against, or perhaps some wild animal that would eat her alive if she let her guard down.

She did not look at any of them like family.

She looked to Rhaegar, her father. "By your leave?" she asked. But it was in so much as one would ask in a way that indicated just what the answer should be.

The sadness cut through her brother deeply. She could tell. He nodded. "You have my leave."

Joan closed her eyes and breathed out something that could only be called relief. She turned her back on the Iron Throne and walked out of the hall.

 **Elia**

(Location: King's Landing)

It was not that Elia didn't know how she had treated her husband's Stark child. She knew it long before Oberyn declared that he would not come back to King's Landing. In the years since, he had kept his word. Her only connection to Dorne anymore was the monthly letters from Doran, and occasionally, his daughter Arianne.

She'd tried to keep her children away from Lyanna Stark's. Over time it became easier and easier, until one day she simply didn't have to do it ever again. Her children simply didn't associate with their northern half-sister. The courtiers and other sycophants knew well enough her displeasure could pass to them if they associated with Joan openly.

And Joan _Targaryen_ became a ghost in the castle, the little black ghost of the Red Keep.

And when she disappeared…Elia couldn't remember if she felt guilt. Perhaps a part of her had. Perhaps it had been drowned out by the quiet, vindictive _relief_ she felt _._ She'd thought Joan long dead. Most of the realm thought her dead. The little ghost had vanished so much more quietly than she'd come into the world.

Then they found her in the North. Because of course she would have gone there.

Rhaegar had wanted to search there too, to drag half the realm through the northern countryside to find Joan. It had been Varys who cautioned her husband to it. The North was not their friend. And the loss of the princess compounded by a virtual army moving through Moat Cailin and up the Neck would not sit well with the resentful northern banners.

Her children had returned from Winterfell with their dragons, soldiers, and Kingsguard in tow. It had been her uncle that returned to the North again, wheeling around at Riverrun once her children were safe to look after the fourth. She had Pycelle send a raven for him, asking him to come back. He obeyed, leaving the girl alone in the North where Elia hoped she would be forgotten again.

Elia's luck wouldn't be that kind. Nary six months later they received word from the Starks that Joan Targaryen was returning south, returning to the Red Keep.

In truth, things could be far worse. Joan probably spent more time out of the city than in it, hunting in the Kingswood. At first she hunted alone, isolating herself.

That would change when Princess Arianne, along with three of Oberyn's youngest daughters came to visit the Red Keep for Rhaenys' name day. She had no doubt Oberyn had only allowed his daughters to travel here due to the news of Joan's return.

And then one fine day the Sand Snakes and Shireen Baratheon of all people had disappeared.. The Red Keep was practically torn apart trying to find them. Then Shireen's septa stepped forward and said that Joan had simply walked into the room and told Shireen to come with her. The men of Sunspear reported a similar occurrence with and Oberyn's daughters. A distant, out of favor member of the royal family Joan might be. But she _was_ a member of the royal family regardless.

Shireen and the others had obeyed. A search party was being organized when they rode back into the city through the south gate with a stag. Shireen had all but run to her father to tell him of how they hunted the stag and she fired the killing shot. Whether Stannis liked the idea of his daughter hunting or not, she couldn't say. She doubted it.

Since then, the girl would tell any random number of girls to follow her into the woods to hunt, always girls, never boys. She never picked the same girl twice and they were from all across the Seven Kingdoms. Soon, it became a fight between the girls of the court to try and gain her favor to hunt. The court might have found it odd but Elia would swear the girls became close as sisters when they returned.

But that was not all she did. When she was in the Red Keep, the girl would have nothing to do with the ladies her age, not that her sister Rhaenys's didn't _try_ to get her to join. Every offer to sit and embroidery was rejected, every chance to have lunch was ignored, and even the offer to have a bedmate was scorned. The closest she had gotten to being sociable was walking into an embroidery circle, take whatever she needed, and walk out of the room. Elia would later find out that whatever she had taken was used to sew an article of clothing that had been damaged.

The most surprising thing that came to her attention was how the girl was a hypocrite. She had said she had come back south to mend her ties with her family, but every time Elia had seen her near any of her children, she would leave without a word.

Frankly, she would have left it at that, and never touched the subject. The less time spent with Joan the better in her mind. But to watch Rhaenys and Aegon's notable melancholy at the state of things continue drove her to finally confront the girl on her hypocrisy.

She could either change her attitude, or give up this farce for what it was and skulk back to the frozen North.

She'd tried to summon her at first. But she would either not be found, or that wolf of hers would quietly intercept anyone she sent before the message could be delivered. Grudgingly, she had to admit that beast was far more clever than one would first assume.

This would go on for a solid week until finally, she had enough.

Waiting for the dead of night, at the time Varys said she would usually retire for her rooms, she marched right in without a single word of warning. The door struck the wall and Elia noticed the blood red eyes of the direwolf peering up at her from the floor where the beast was laying across from her, along with a bucket hanging over the fire, water boiling within it. Joan was next to it, a tunic and some thin clothes to cover her modesty.

She saw something red against the skin of her hip before Joan moved lightning fast, grabbing at some bed sheets and pulling it over her shoulders like a robe. "What do you want?" the girl demanded, outrage mixed with fear.

Elia ignored the rudeness, choosing to look at where the redness had been. "What was that I just saw?" she asked. "Show me."

"No," the girl said back. Her hands were clenched tight around her tunic's hem.

"Show me, girl." She didn't say anything but glared at her with eyes full of anger and…nervousness? "Show me, or I will have the Kingsguard make you show me."

The anger overwhelmed the nervousness and she opened up the sheet to reveal a scar on her naked hip. "There, happy?"

Elia did not answer her. She stared at the scar. It was an angry, jagged thing. When she looked closer she realized that it wasn't one scar but several small scars so close together it could fool someone. "What happened?" she demanded.

She pulled the tunic down. "Why do you care?" Her voice was guarded as were her eyes. But beneath that guard was a small seed of fear.

It was a good question. But it wasn't one she cared to answer. "What happened?" she asked again. "What did this to you?"

"A dog," she answered, still holding the tunic tight against her body, "A dog that hunted me through the woods, intent on ripping me to shreds. It got me in the end and started tearing at my side. I would've been dead if the Free Folk hadn't saved me."

Yes, she remembered her children telling her and Rhaegar this story, of how she was hunted by Lord Bolton's bastard. Seeing the remains of that hunt was different from hearing about it. She could almost see the dog's teeth burying itself into the girl's hip. "Did he go away free?" she asked.

Joan looked at her cautiously, like she was expecting to be punished for what she might say. But she still spoke, "Only until Lord Stark rode to the Dreadfort to discuss the matter with Roose Bolton." Joan smiled. It was a twisted, cruel thing. "An hour later, that _monster_ 's head was on the block. Uncle let me swing the sword. The last thing he heard were the words I whispered in his ear: 'For Domeric.'"

She didn't show it, but Elia was stunned that a woman, even in the North would be able to do such a thing. Even Dorne, who gave women far more freedom than most, didn't have a female _executioner_. It was hardly a job women wanted really. She wondered just how horrible this "Bastard of Bolton" must have been like if she took such pleasure in her killing of him.

She drew her eyes to the boiling water. "What are you doing with that?" she asked, looking at the bucket over the fire.

"The steam helps me relax." she replied.

"The _steam_?" the queen repeated.

Joan shrugged. "It's cold in the north. The steam would keep the cabin Lord Stark gave me warm at night. It's unbearably _hot_ in this gods forsaken place as it is. But I like the sound. It helps me sleep. Are you here for something?" she suddenly asked, bluntly, turning to look at her dead in the eye since Elia walked into the room.

With a start, the queen realized just then how much the daughter looked like the mother. It was like Lyanna Stark was looking back at her from across grave and time. Her grey eyes were damning, accusing. She almost took a step back at the ghost.

But she was a Martell. She would not bend, bow, or break before the shade of that Northern girl. "You said that you came back to mend your relationship with your family and yet, you've done as little as you can to do that."

"I've been busy."

"Hunting with little girls through the forest," she remarked. It almost sounded like a song or a story.

But she wasn't threatened or angered by the voice. "I'm trying to make sure that the relationships between the noble houses stay good through their daughters. Bonds of sisterhood are just as strong as brotherhood." She fell silent for a moment, her eyes going to the fire. "But you want to know why I'm not trying to be with your children."

"Yes," Elia said. "Why is that?"

"You," she said. Her voice and eyes became accusatory as she spoke. "I've thought of it. I know I'm hardly making good on my promise to Maester Aemon, but every time I think of going to them, to try and be their family, all I can see is _you_ and your glare. You and the punishments you gave me whenever you were angry and I was _convenient._ Or whenever I was trying to be your daughter," she declared.

Elia didn't say anything back. There was nothing that could be said. The girl was right. She had looked at her like she didn't belong whenever she had come near her children. But that had been a little girl.

Standing before her was a woman who could fight back.

And Elia knew she was at a crossroads. A moment that could forever _change_ what became of her family. That could change what became of _her_. Was she really so embittered by years and years of resentment and hurt, towards the memory of a long dead woman?

A part of her knew she was. The other part of her could remember Oberyn's retreating back as he left King's Landing, at Ellaria's hurt gaze and quiet condemnation, at her husband's silent despair after Joan's disappearance, at the memory of her children returning to the North. And she realized that this was hurting her _family_ far more than it would ever harm her.

She could bear the weight of her own hate…

They couldn't.

The words escaped the cage of her teeth, and pained her with every uttered syllable. But she said them. "If that is what's keeping you from trying to bond with your siblings, I shall…keep myself from you." She turned and walked for the door.

"Why?" said the girl, making her stop in her tracks. "Why couldn't you have loved me?" There was an unguarded tone to her voice. It made her sound much younger.

" _You know why,"_ she thought to herself. It was because she reminded her so much of that girl Rhaegar had met at that damn tourney. Elia knew that she was never a great beauty like Cersei Lannister or her own niece, Arianne. At best, she could be called pretty. She had never thought that she would be married to Rhaegar. But once they were married in the eyes of the Seven, she promised herself that she would make him happy.

Then Harrenhal and Lyanna Stark happened. She had watched her own husband fall for a woman who was barely more than a girl. She wasn't insulted by that. She was just as Dornish as Oberyn. If her husband had taken the girl as a paramour, she wouldn't have objected. She would've been kind to whatever children they had. But no, Rhaegar did not take her as a paramour. He took her before a heart tree and "wedded" her.

To Elia, that screamed Rhaegar didn't think she was good enough, that if he had a choice he would've picked someone else to be his wife. When he came back from Dorne with Ned Stark, the girl's body, and her daughter, she could only see the sad look in his eyes. That tore at her even more.

And since then, every time she had seen Joan come her way as a child, all she could see was Lyanna Stark walking towards her. It made her angry and she lashed out at the girl, all to spite her dead mother.

But she would not tell her that, not now, not ever. "The proper form of address is 'your Grace,'" she told the girl before walking out of the room.

 **Samwell**

(Location: King's Landing)

He sat alone at the table, watching the ball go on in front of him. His lord father had made it clear that he was not to embarrass the Tarly name tonight. That meant he would stay at their table and let his father, Dickon, his mother, and his sisters dance and talk. He would've brought a book but it would have made his lord father look at him ever worse.

He heard the chair next to him being pushed back. When he looked over and saw it was Princess Joan, his heart almost stopped. "Hello, Sam," she said with a smile. "It's good to see you again."

"P-P-Princess," he started, trying to say his courtesies.

But she stopped him before he could even begin. "Please, call me by my name." She kept smiling at him. "We were friends once, weren't we? I had hoped that we still would be."

He had hoped the same. He remembered the first time his father brought him to King's Landing along with the rest of his family for a celebration of King Rhaegar's nameday. He had hidden himself away in the library, where the princess had already been. She welcomed him and asked if he wanted to share the book she was reading. Within minutes they were talking about it and everything else they could think of. By the end of the day, they were friends. When he heard of how she vanished, he had cried.

But now she was back and she wasn't a girl any more. She was a woman with a woman's body. She was beautiful and Sam could not believe that she would want to be near him, let alone call her by her name. It took him a moment to muster the strength to say, "W-We are, J-Joan."

"Good." Her eyes found the dance floor.

He followed her gaze until he saw what she was looking at: Prince Aegon and Princess Visenya dancing together. They were in the center of the floor and all eyes were on them. They danced with the finest grace, almost as if they were from a song. He wondered why she would watch them. "Are you and your siblings on good terms?" he ventured; wondering if her disappearance had somehow changed the situation since his last time here.

She shrugged. "Not sure to be honest," she replied. "When I first saw them again at Winterfell, I didn't want to see them again."

He'd heard about the Targaryens' time in Winterfell. They had all heard about that. But that was also nearly a full year ago. "And now?" he asked.

Her eyes found them again. Sam looked that way too. And for the briefest of moments, the prince and the princess caught their gaze. The eyes Aegon and Visenya had were different. If Sam were any judge, Aegon looked at his sister with something he could almost fathom as a plea for her to come out onto the floor. Princess Visenya turned her eyes away. They looked uncertain.

He looked over at Joan, but she didn't look at him. "I'm trying," she finally said. "Yesterday, I was reading a book in the library. Rhaenys came in to read something else. We sat at the same table, reading. We didn't say anything to each other until I asked what she was reading. She told me and asked the same of me."

"O-oh, that's good?" It was more a question than a statement truth be told. One word of conversation over the titles of a book did not, a mended relationship make. His brother and sister could talk with him for hours on end. He saw his lord father dance with his mother close by. Lord Tarly's eyes found him and he looked away.

Princess Joan saw him do that. "Is everything alright?" she asked Sam. "Does your father still dislike you?"

He was embarrassed that she knew that. But it couldn't be helped. She had found him crying once after his lord father had berated him harshly. "Yes," he said in the end. "Nothing that I do can please him. I'm craven and I'll never be the warrior that he wants me to be." He shrugged, attempting to look nonchalant as he huffed. "I love my books and letters."

He didn't know what she would say to that. The silence between them was practically deafened by the sound of the ball before them. Prince Aegon was now dancing with Princess Rhaenys, and where Visenya looked like a graceful woman. Rhaenys looked as though she was born to dance, resplendent in silks of black and sun gold, the color of both her houses.

"You know," the Princess suddenly said. I think there might be a way to please your father with what you are," she said to him.

Sam looked back at her. "How?" he asked her. He certainly couldn't think of anything.

"When I was with the Free Folk, I lived with Mance Rayder."

He was astounded. He hadn't even known she'd spent time with the wildlings. Oh of course there were _rumors_ but he really hadn't paid them much mind. The court would spin any fanciful tale to suit their interests. The last he'd heard she had a wolf. Laughable that. And, of course there was the one where she, or the "wolf" was some kind of winter spirit that could haunt men's dreams and freeze their blood. "The King-Beyond-The-Wall?" he asked her.

"Aye," she said with a nod. "One of the men that followed him is called Tormund Gaintsbane. He's stronger, tougher, and fiercer than Mance with a voice that could match a thunderstorm. I had wondered why it wasn't him that led the Free Folk since he seemed to be the ideal. He just laughed, agreed with what I said, but told me that Mance had the one thing he didn't have: cunning." She smiled at him encouragingly. "You've got the same cunning, Sam. Use that to prove yourself to your father."

It sounded like a good idea. But he didn't know how he could do something like that. "How?" he asked her, hoping that she would have the answer.

She drank some wine at the table. "There's more to a battle than just the fighting," she finally said, putting the goblet down on the table.

They continued to watch the dance. Everyone looked graceful as they moved with their partner. They almost looked as if they were from a song themselves. Sam felt even worse for not being a part of that. His eyes looked over at the princess next to him. His throat suddenly went dry as an idea came to his mind. "Your Highness," he said to her, trying to use what little courage to say the words, "w-would you like t-to…dance?"

She stared at him and for a moment, he thought himself foolish for asking her. She was a princess and he was clumsy on his feet. He would embarrass her. "That's flattering, Sam," she told him with a small smile. "But I wouldn't do you much good. I can't dance. Sorry."

He felt relieved at the refusal and then ashamed. "It's alright," he told her. "Perhaps we could just talk."

"Aye, that's sounds like a good idea to me."

"Your pardon," said a man as he sat down beside them. "Do you mind if I join you? I'm finding the entire ball rather depressing."

They both looked at him, taking in his thin frame and greyed-hair. "Be welcomed," the princess told him. "I'm Joan, this is Sam."

"Eddison, but most people find it's better to call me Edd," he introduced himself. "So, why are you two not dancing? It seems that you have found a partner in each other."

Joan shrugged her shoulders. "To say that I have two left feet would be a compliment. My septa despaired of me ever learning how to dance properly."

"Well, that can happen when your septa is a bear. I've heard they would rather have the frozen honey and sleep during the winter," he said with a completely straight face but with a droll sense of humor.

Whilst Sam was shocked, Joan laughed. "You recognized me."

"It would be hard not to, Princess. After all, you're the only one at this table with a dragon stitched into her dress."

"I'm the only one wearing a dress."

"There is that too. I wonder if I put myself in a dress, I would be able to have a dance."

Sam couldn't help find the idea funny. "You would certainly stand out," he said.

"True, I would look horrible in a dress." He regarded the entire ball. "But it would certainly make things interesting here. This place is already quite stuffy."

The princess looked at the ball with a speculative look. "Do you have any ideas on how to make more lively?" she asked him. She actually sounded interested. Sam felt afraid but interested at the same time too.

"Other than any plans that involve being an utter fool?" he asked, "Unfortunately not. Would anyone know how to play a humorous version of The Rains of Castamere? That would be interesting to see."

"Oh, I'm sure I could play something like that," she said, considering the idea.

Sam looked at her with complete surprise. He didn't think she would actually agree with his idea. But there was also what she was implying. "You can play music?"

She nodded. "I can play the fiddle and strangle out a tune on a set of uilleann pipes."

Edd looked a little interested. "Shall you play a song for us, my princess?"

"I can't. I left my fiddle in my rooms. Besides," she looked at the dancers once more, "if I played something like that here, they would be shocked by what I could."

"Wasn't that what we were trying to do in the first place?" It made them both laugh and Sam found himself joining in the laughter.

That was how they spent the rest of the ball, talking to one another. He noticed how people would look their way, Joan's family most of all, but they paid no attention to them. They only talked to each other, about the things they found interesting. Sam felt glad for it. It felt like he now had friends who didn't think he was weak and pathetic. They didn't care about that.

When the ball ended and he followed his family back to their chambers, his father said to him, "You were speaking to the princess." They stood in the parlor room that they all shared.

"Yes," Sam replied. He wished that his mother, sisters, or even Dickon were still in the room. Facing his father alone had always scared him.

"Why?"

He winced at the voice, the iron hardness of it. "S-She's my friend." Lord Tarly didn't say anything to that. He turned for the bedroom he shared with Lady Tarly. Sam watched him go and felt his courage slipping away. He took it back. "Father, how did you defeat Robert Baratheon at Ashford?"

Randyll Tarly stopped and looked at him. "What did you say?" he asked his voice suspicious.

It was something that he had figured out while he was talking Joan. Now he had to get it pass his father. He hoped that he could. "How did you defeat him? How did you know that he would be at Ashford? How did you know to position your army?"

"Why are you asking this?"

He couldn't look his father in the eyes. He looked to the stone floor and couldn't look away. But he still was able to talk. "I know I'm not a warrior. But there is more to a battle than just fighting. Perhaps if I was taught the other side, I…I could be a strategist?" He waited in silence and it was almost unbearable. He began to wonder if this was such a good idea. Would his father laugh at him for asking such a thing?

The silence dragged on, save for the crackle in the fireplace. He brought his eyes back up.

But the man was already walking through the door. It shut, and Sam felt his face fall just a bit before he realized, with a start, his father hadn't said "No."

Was this leave to do as he wished? He hoped so. Turning and marching to his chambers Sam hoped he'd be on the way to gaining some modicum of respect from his father. He also hoped that the suggestion he gave to Joan in regards to her siblings would work out too.

 **Arthur**

(Location: King's Landing)

It came as a surprise to all, to the Sword of the Morning the most, when Princess Joan stepped out onto the training yard. This was not entirely new however. The Kingsguard knew she trained with the bow and the spear. But the difference was that she would usually train when the yard was practically empty and whenever she did have a partner to train with, it was usually Ser Jaime, the only of his brothers she seemed to get along with at all.

Seeing her come out, with spear in hand, amongst a crowded yard, where Visenya and Aegon were also training no less, was a complete surprise. It was Ser Barristan who first addressed her. "Your Highness…we were…not expecting you to join us?" he asked her.

She shrugged, looking back at him as she came to a stop. "I'm here to train," she told him. She turned her gaze away from him and settled on her siblings who stood off to the side for their morning rituals. "That is, unless you have a problem with this."

Arthur realized that she was challenging them, trying to see if they would react the way she expected them to. Not for the first time, he questioned his decision to stand by all those years, his…apathy. His oath instructed him to guard and protect the royal family. The oath did not say he should not protest their actions when it was warranted.

Perhaps the years under Aerys had robbed him of more than he'd ever cared to consider.

Now, he could see the results of his inaction: a girl who looked at her family and saw potential enemies. Two of her siblings looked at her with open regret and the other who looked at her with thinly veiled uncertainty.

She kept looking at them, waiting to hear their answer. It was her brother who broke the awkward silence in the air. "No, we don't have a problem," Aegon said. Ser Arthur knew that there was something in how the prince spoke that made people listen. He had a talent for easing conflicts between people without hands going for swords.

"Good," she said back. "Then you want to fight me?" A few broken gasps were heard from some of the less disciplined guard.

No doubt word of even the 'challenge' would spread through the court like wildfire. If Prince Aegon chose to accept—"

"Of course," he told her. "If you'd want to get some padded armor—"

"I'm fine," she said, cutting him off as she knelt down to the ground.

Arthur felt his brow rise just a had enough experience to know that not everyone needed to utilize armor to be effective at combat. The Dothraki, of the Grass Sea, the Water Dancers of Bravos, even Prince Oberyn of Dorne favored speed over defensive power. But it was hardly the norm in Westeros. Under who had she trained in Winterfell? Even by 'lightly armored' swordsmen standards, she was pushing it. A tunic and leggings did not combat equipment make. He watched her grab hold of some dirt and rubbed it hard into her hands.

She stood back up and gripped her spear. "When you're ready," she told her brother, stepping closer towards him.

He drew his sword and the people surrounding them backed off so they could have more room. It was a contest that was severely weighed to one side. The prince wore training armor with a shield in one hand and his sword in the other. The princess only had her spear but she held it properly. They moved toward each other and she made the first move, thrusting below the shield.

Prince Aegon lowered the shield to block the thrust.

That was when she threw the dirt at his eyes.

"Ah!" the prince cried out, shutting his eyes. That's when his sister struck. With three, lightning fast strikes with the counterweight of the spear, attacks that could have easily been fatal, she disarmed him and sent him to the ground.

The entire yard was silent as Princess Joan stared down at her brother. "You need to react quicker," she told him bluntly.

"You cheated!" Princess Visenya said accusingly from where she stood at the sidelines and the whole yard agreed with her.

Ser Arthur nodded in agreement. While he knew many soldiers would fight in such a way, he, frankly, expected better of Ned Stark's upbringing, with how famous the man's sense of honor was.

But she looked at them with a disinterested look and asked, "And?" The entire yard fell into stunned silence. She looked at her sister, then at her brother who was still trying to blink the sand out of his eyes. "Honor has no place in a battlefield or even in a simple fight. The soldier you're about to run through with your sword won't care that he died 'honorably' he'll try to kill you with anything he's got. The sooner you get that through your head, the better your chances in a real fight."

"Been in many real fights have you?" Aegon asked rhetorically.

Joan didn't seem to pick up on it. "I have."

She held her hand to him and he took it. She pulled him up but stepped away once he was back on his feet. "Who taught you how to fight like that?" he asked her.

"The best damn spearwife in all of the Free Folk," she answered with both a grimace and a reminiscent smile, strangely enough to Arthur's eyes. "She was the Mother, the Crone, and the Warrior all melded together with a demon from the seven hells and shoved into an old woman's skin."

That description did not sit well with Arthur. "And she was the one who taught you to fight like that, Princess?" he asked her.

"Aye, she did and I am damn proud to be taught by the Old Mother."

"Old Mother?" questioned Loras Tyrell. He and others started to snigger at the name. It was unbecoming of them as squires and hopeful knights.

The sniggering died away when the princess turned her gaze onto them. She ignored them in favor of her brother. "Again?" she asked him.

He smirked and nodded enthusiastically. "Oh yes, again."

She smiled back, a smaller one than his. "Good to hear it." She struck first again. He blocked it and made sure that she didn't catch him unawares again.

The Sword of the Morning watched the princess as she fought. The way she fought was different from he knew. It seemed…unorthodox. He could see some form of proper fighting, something that she must've picked up at Winterfell. But for the most part, she would cheat and trick her way to victory. There were moments that she used the spear more like a long club than a spear. Being a Dornishman, it was a sight that was just wrong to him. Yet, she was able to match Prince Aegon blow for blow and even get the edge on him more than once.

When she knocked him down a third time, he yielded. "You're a tricky fighter, sister," he told Princess Joan as he got back to his feet. "I think that someone with a better sword arm than me should try to fight you."'

She rested her spear against her shoulder with arrogant air. "And who would that be?"

Visenya came forward with her sword at the ready. "Me," she declared. Ser Arthur checked with Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime. They both nodded and stood at the ready to stop this if it got out of hand. It was no secret that out of the three of them, Princess Visenya was the most slow to openly welcome her half-sister back… to put it lightly.

The fight began and almost right away he could see that it was a much more even fight. He wasn't surprised by the fact that Princess Visenya could hold her own. She was the most suited for the warrior's life than Aegon or Rhaenys. She found the most joy in wielding a sword or finding a way to outthink her opponent.

And as everyone watched, Arthur noticed that it was an even match. Visenya was able to match Joan in every strike and stab she gave. It was an interesting spectacle to watch, the crudeness of the wildings against the refined technique he and his Kingsguard brother had taught. But he also noticed something else. Princess Joan was becoming unguarded as the fight continued. Oh, she kept her focus, but she was also smiling, a honest smile. She was enjoying the spar. No, it wasn't that. She was enjoying the time with her family. And when he looked at Princess Visenya, he saw the same smile on her lips too.

They would never know the outcome of the spar. A servant raced out into the yard, pushing his way past everyone there. "Your Highnesses!" he cried in a winded voice. The fight stopped. Aegon went over to him. "Your father wants you to come to his side immediately."

Ser Barristan stepped forward. "What's happened?" he asked. Visenya and Aegon stepped forward, leaving Joan alone.

Arthur already knew just by looking at the man's face that it was bad. He looked at Princess Joan. She looked at the servant with a worried curiosity but stayed still. When her siblings followed the man back into the castle, she followed at a distance. He and the Kingsguard followed too.

 **Aegon**

(Location: Storm's End)

Robert Baratheon had come back to Westeros. It was news that spread fear throughout the Seven Kingdoms.. He was the only rebel who refused to join forces with Aegon's father at the Trident. He fled to Essos with loyal followers while the rest marched on King's Landing to remove the Mad King. There, everyone had hoped that he would stay.

But now, he was in the Stormlands with the Golden Company as the Captain-General. No one had thought him insane enough to return. Even with the element of surprise that allowed him to run rampant through the countryside, capture the Stormlands and part of the Reach, now the full might of the Kingdoms was marshalling against him, though some were dragging their feet, admittedly. If Aegon didn't know any better, he would've thought that some lords supported the rebel stag.

The king had ordered Westeros to action and Westeros answered. While Dorne and the Reach needled and harried Robert's forces from the south and west, the royal host bore down from the north. It had taken them three months of constant fighting but they had been able to push Robert back to Storm's End, his birthplace.

That was where they stood when the king called a meeting the night before what was to come. Stannis Baratheon looked furious. "If Renly is still alive after all this, I swear I am going to beat brains into him," he all but snarled as he stared down at the map. Aegon, his father, and his sisters stood around the map alongside all the lords who marched with them. It was a good thing that the tent was big enough to hold them all. Even still, it felt rather warm.

"The Golden Company might've come after Robert did, milord," Ser Davos Seaworth said to him. He was Stannis's man and stood the closest to him. Aegon had noticed how the other stormlords looks disapprovingly at the former smuggler. Clearly, they thought he didn't belong there.

"He shouldn't have let Robert into Storm's End to begin with, Ser Davos."

"He had never met his brother before," said Father. All eyes fell onto him. "He would have been interested to meet him, especially if he came in supposed good terms." His voice was quiet but it was heard throughout the tent. He still commanded presence and respect, but Aegon felt like this was the last place his father should be. The rains that had plagued their army throughout the months had left him with a cough that weakened him. He should be abed, resting.

"What Robert said to his brother doesn't matter," Jon Connington, the Hand of the King, declared. "What matters is what we will do to crush the rebel lord."

"We have dragons," Bryce Caron declared. "We should tell Robert to surrender unless he wishes to make Storm's End the next Harrenhal."

Lord Stanns fixed him with a glare. "That is _my_ castle, Lord Caron, with _my_ people and my brother inside. Would you have the same fate fall upon Nightsong?" He fell silent, proving that he didn't want it to be so. "And do not forget who Robert has taken into Storm's End with him."

A hush fell over them. They all knew what he had meant. Only two days ago they had fought Robert's forces. It was a victory when they sent them running. But that victory came at the cost of a defeat. Before he ordered the retreat, Robert himself led the charge into the left wing. He smashed it opened and killed Ser Lewyn with barely two swings of his war hammer, shattering the Kingsguard's spear and armor. Then…he took Rhae captive. He ordered the retreat and laughed mockingly as he left. They had pursued him in order to rescue the princess, but to no avail. Robert knew these stormlands better than most ever would. . Now they were preparing for a siege outside of Storm's End.

"The dragons won't matter," said Randyll Tarly. "Even if they were large enough, Robert has taken precautions against them."

All eyes fell to him. "What do you mean, my lord?" 'Senya asked him. She stood beside Aegon, dressed in armor, same as him. Women shouldn't be at war councils but they were dragon riders. They had a voice in this fight. Then again, the other woman in the tent wasn't a dragon rider. His eyes fell onto Joan, who stood in the back. She watched and listened, never offering her own opinion.

The man looked at his son. It was not Dickon but his eldest, Samwell. He had come at Joan's insistence even when his father did not want him to come. He had come to every war council, looked at the map, and wrote down notes. The more councils they had, the more notes he wrote. It was 'Senya who discovered that he was noting all the strategies that were made and incorporating into his own strategies. She brought it to Father's attention and he had the boy offer one of his ideas. It was that idea that saved them at Bronzegate.

Since then Lord Tarly had started bringing Samwell more often than Dickon to the council. The fat boy looked at everyone looking at him. He gulped audibly but said, "I-I took the chance to look at Storm's End with a far-eye, your Grace. The wall and tower are lined with scorpions. If you tried to attack with your dragons, they'll be shot out of the sky."

Aegon shared a look with Visenya. Their dragons were not big enough to ride. One scorpion bolt could their lives easily. "Damn," his sister said, frowning.

The threat of the dragons was the only hope that the battle would not happen. "Then we must prepare for a siege," said Lord Connington. "We will starve that bastard out."

As the others began to murmur how a sound idea it was, Aegon heard his father speak. "No, my Hand," he said, silencing the tent again. "Robert would die before surrendering to a siege. Not to speak of what he would do to Rhaenys…he will kill her."

There was silence through the tent each lord either weighing their options, or trying to come up with a solution. Then, Rhaegar spoke again, taking the decision out of their hands. "I see only one way out of this without senseless bloodshed."

'Senya looked concerned about what he said. "What do you mean, Father?"

He looked at her with sad eyes. Those same eyes fell on everyone in the tent. "Get some sleep, everyone," he told them. He had to stop and cough, worrying them all. "Tomorrow, this will end. Robert has returned for one reason: to kill me. I will oblige him." Voices rose from all the lords in protest but he wave them away. "I will not send men to die, nor risk Rhaenys' life; not unless I must. If bloodshed can be avoided, I will take the chance."

"My king," began Lord Connington, wanting to object.

But Father was resolute even as he coughed some more. "I have spoken, my lord. It will end tomorrow." With that said, the war council was over.

Aegon didn't know what to think of the plan his father made. They all knew the king was sick and was in no position to accept a duel from Robert Baratheon. Everyone was leaving the tent yet he felt strangely rooted to the spot, looking at the map of Storm's End and the surrounding land. He felt worried. What would happen if his father lost the fight? Would they lay siege to Storm's End? Would he avenge his father's death against Robert Baratheon?

When he realized that he was the only one left in the tent, he left. He walked through the camp, watching and not watching the men go about their business. There were many fires lighting the darkness around them, many of them filled with talk and laughter. He didn't know if the laughter was genuine or fueled by drink. He thought it was a bit ridiculous to drink the night before a battle but he would sound like a fool if he said those words aloud.

" _Has truly been only three months since the fighting started?"_ he asked himself. It felt so much longer now. He had ridden at his father's side out of King's Landing, eager for war and the glory that came with it. Now he just wanted to go home and escape the horrors around him. He hadn't been alone. Rhae and 'Senya had been the same. They had thought themselves ready, ready to wage war with their dragons in defense of their house. The night after their first battle, Aegon found Rhae. They clung to each other and cried, hoping that together they would be able to banish the nightmares.

Strangely enough, his feet did not take him to his father's tent or the one he shared with Rhae and 'Senya. They took him to the edge of camp, where Joan had pitched her own camp. _"If it could be called that,"_ he thought to himself. Her camp consisted of a cloth that propped up by a set of sticks and a fire. She sat at the fire so she could look out at Storm's End, sharpening her spear. Her direwolf sat beside her, a silent sentinel.

She glanced his way briefly before looking back at the castle. "You need something, Aegon?" she asked shortly.

"No, not really," he answered. There was an awkward silence between the two of them. "May I sit?"

"There's plenty of room."

He took that to be an invitation and saw down close to her. Together, they looked at Storm's End. They didn't say anything for the longest time, choosing to stare at the imposing castle and the thunderclouds bulging over the bay behind it. "What do you think of Father's plan?" he finally asked. She had been in the council too but had said nothing. "Do you think that it will work?

"Father's spent these years ruling," she replied, not taking her eyes off the castle. "Robert Baratheon's spent them fighting." It didn't sound like she was confident about what came next. She didn't mention his cough.

It made him nervous. Suddenly, the truth came out of his mouth before he could stop it. "I'm scared, Joan. I'm scared of tomorrow." He couldn't pin point the primary reason for his fear. But it was there. Perhaps there were simply too many to count. The fact that Fang wouldn't be with him, the fact that his father might die on the morrow, or that if he did Rhaenys would likely die with him. Or even the simple fact that he might be shouldered with a responsibility he simply wasn't ready for.

She turned her head to look at him. Her grey eyes weren't full of scorn like he thought they would be. Rather, they seemed… understanding. "I'd more worried if you weren't. You're a good person, Aegon. I don't want to see you become a monster."

Oddly enough her words brought him back to the start. Out of the four of them, she was the only one who did not boast or brag about what she could do. She kept silent as her direwolf. When battle joined, she was the one who fought savagely, never stopping to consider what she had just done to a life. "Why didn't you warn us about what was going to happen?" he asked.

She put her spear down. "Would you have listened if I did?"

He frowned. There she was, bringing back their childhood again. It was beginning to feel like no matter how many times he apologized, she would always hold it against him, Rhae, and 'Senya. "We might have."

"Still, telling you is one thing. Experiencing it for yourself is another. It's how I learned." She picked up her spear again and started sharpening it again.

He couldn't help staring at her as she kept on sharpening her spear. It was the same face he had seen at Winterfell. She wore her hair back in a braid but there were strands that fell out of place down her forehead. They were distracting as hell in the way that could make a man burn with desire.

Aegon felt odd when he looked at her. Despite being married to both Rhae and 'Senya, he also yearned for Joan. He looked at her serious face and his hands ached to push those strands away. He wanted to kiss her until she smiled and then kiss her some more. Looking at her, he almost felt like he didn't care that she was his sister or that he was married (to their sisters, but that was beside the point).

She looked at him again and quickly looked away. He realized that he didn't hide his desire. "Go to Visenya, Aegon," she told him. "She's probably just as scared as you."

"Then why isn't she here?" he asked her. Probably one of the strangest things about this war was the relationship between Joan and 'Senya: it brought them closer. That same night he had clung to Rhae, he later learned that Joan comforted 'Senya, who'd cried the whole night..

In battle, they fought side by side, protecting each other. When 'Senya started learning strategy alongside Sam Tarly Joan didn't try to keep them apart like she would've done in Winterfell. They spoke more often these days whatever it was they were talking about, he didn't know. What he did know was that it was having a change on 'Senya. She didn't look at Joan with uncertain hostility anymore. Now, her eyes were more embarrassed.

She kept her eyes on the spear. She sharpened it like her life depended on it. "It's one thing for a sister to reassure a sister. A brother is another thing," she said. Good night, Aegon." It was an invitation for him to leave and they both knew it. If they had been children still, he would've stayed to spite her. But they weren't children anymore and she was right. He left her camp but he did look back her way. She did not.

* * *

The next morning, as they were all preparing for what was coming next, a horn suddenly blew. Everyone flew into a panic and questions flew fast. The biggest question was if Robert Baratheon had attacked before they were ready. Aegon had his armor on when the horn sounded. He mounted his horse and rode for the front. 'Senya joined him. They didn't say anything to each other. They didn't need to.

The center van was beginning to form when they reached their father's side. But any thoughts of battle fled Aegon's mind when he looked at Storm's End. Before its gates, Robert Baratheon was fighting someone in single combat. The horn they had heard had come from the castle, signaling that the rebel lord was riding out. The horses close to the battle didn't look to be harmed or tired, so the combat must've started on foot. Robert's opponent wore plate…no…that was his _father's_ plate armor!

Lord Connington was shouting orders, cursing Rhaegar to the seven hells as the soldiers assembled themselves into hasty battle lines, just in case it was needed. While single combat had its rules, Aegon knew Connington well enough to know that, should it be necessary, he himself would charge head long into the teeth of the rebel forces to rescue his father.

Aegon and 'Senya rushed their horses forward, moving forward to… what? Get a better look? Rescue their father if it was needed? He wasn't sure.

Oddly, Aegon noticed that there were no Kingsguard with their father. There should have been at least four present. That's when he saw what his 'father' was wielding: a spear. The realization sent him reeling. He pulled on the reins of his horse hard enough to have the beast rear up on its hind legs. "That's Joan!"

Both Lord Connington and Lord Stannis looked at him when he uttered those words, "What?!" shouted the Hand of the King.

He pointed to his sister as she dodged Robert's hammer, barely. "I know that spear. She was sharpening it last night."

"What's that fool girl doing?"

He turned, looking to Senya, wondering if she'd had any inkling of this beforehand. But she didn't. 'Senya held her reins tight, her face was the picture of a clear and sudden fear, mingled with surprise. "We have to go help her!" she said.

She started to urge her horse forward but Stannis's voice stopped her. "You can't." All looked to the loyal Baratheon. "It is single combat. Any interference will be seen as a provocation and cause a battle to begin."

Joan stepped away from the hammer, avoiding it by an inch. She tried to stab but the rebel stag blocked it with his shield. She was slow. Her movements weighed down and sluggish. The speed that let her best him handily and match Visenya was nowhere to be seen.

She'd never worn heavy plate armor!

"She needs us!" Senya hissed, urging her horse forward again. This time, it was Aegon that stopped her, grabbing onto the reins and yanking them back. The horse bucked and nearly threw her off. "Let go, Aegon."

"Not until you promise to stay right there," he told her. He looked up at the battlements of Storm's End. There was a single woman there, surrounded by guards in gold and black. It was Rhae. She was being made to watch this fight.

A roar came from Robert Baratheon as he swung the hammer down again. Joan raised her shield to block. It was a mistake.

That wasn't a sword, it wasn't a spear. The full force of Robert Baratheon's hammer blow probably went through that shield and the vambrace beneath like it wasn't even there. Joan stumbled, nearly fell flat onto her back, barely keeping herself standing with the heavy plate as it was, he noticed her arm was all but hanging limply.

If it was broken…this fight was over.

Robert didn't let up. He came after her, swinging his hammer with a great roar each time.

He wondered just how strong the Baratheon was. Father never talked about the failed Rebellion but he had heard the court talk about it. Many wondered what would've happened had Rhaegar and Robert met at the Trident. All he knew now was that every time Robert came close to harming Joan, his hands clenched his reins.

He soon saw that it was uneven match. Robert was faster, stronger. It almost seemed like the grace of the gods that Joan had lasted this long. It looked like it was all she could do to avoid the swings of the hammer. Her wearing plate hampered her more than it would've him or Father. The armor itself was battered and there was no doubt in his mind that she must have been wounded beneath it. Likely it was adrenaline keeping her standing at all. Her spear could not find a weak spot in his armor.

Robert swung, a massive blow that would catch her full in the ribs, if not kill her outright. He was near certain he was about to watch his half-sister die when she brought up that near lifeless arm in a reflexive block.

The blow hit, and this time the shield itself broke with a sound of rent metal and splintering wood. _This_ time, if that arm wasn't broken before, it certainly was now. He heard Joan scream in pain. Robert roared in triumph before barreling into her, knocking her to the ground with a full shoulder tackle. "Fuck this!" 'Senya declared, yanking her reins free.

"Visenya!" called out Stannis but she was already rushing down the slope. Aegon rode after her, without a second thought. From behind came, Lord Connington, and Lord Stannis too. His hand reached for his sword certain a battle was about to begin.

Then, out of nowhere, Joan's direwolf appeared in front of Visenya's horse, and the animal screeched as it reeled back from the massive predator. Ghost's hackles were raised, its body coiled like a taut bowstring, growling low in its chest, frightening the horses into stillness.

Aegon turned his eyes back to the fight and watched Joan rush back to her feet, kicking Robert away. Robert faced her but saw them. He turned his head to look at them pointing his hammer. "Is this your craven father's doing?" he roared across the field. "Sending some fool, worthless boy to fight me because he's just too much of a fucking craven to fight me himself?" He pointed his hammer with one hand at him. Gods be good, how could he do something like that? "When I'm done with this charlatan, I'll come for you next. I'll make Rhaegar watch as I kill all of his bloody children."

But while his attention was elsewhere, Joan struggled back up to her feet. "Do that after you've killed me," she said raggedly, her hand reaching for her helmet's strap.

" _What's she doing?"_ Aegon wondered.

Robert turned back to face her as her helmet came off. His hammer went slack in his hands. He reached up and lifted his visor. Aegon saw his eyes wide with shock, surprise, and hope. "Lyanna?" he asked. "Lyanna, is that—?"

She moved and shoved her spear into his mouth. He struggled and gagged as his blood ran down the length of her spear and stained his surcoat. She held her spear in place and watched as the man died. "My name," she told him just before the light from his eyes faded, "is Joan." He went limp and she pulled out her spear. Robert Baratheon fell dead to the ground. She knelt down beside him and pulled her dagger. With a few quick strokes, she cut off a long ragged piece of his surcoat and tied it around her spear's shaft.

Joan looked at the body for what seemed like an interminable moment, the royal bannermen and the rebels staring at the corpse of Robert Baratheon in stunned silence. Then she stumbled, leaning on her spear before her strength seemed to give out and she fell onto her side.

Visenya and Aegon kicked at their horses, rushing the animals past the now calm Ghost towards their sister. Visenya reached her first, all but jumping off her mare to kneel besides Joan. Her voice was angry as she shouted. "What the hell were you thinking?" Joan didn't seem to be in any condition to answer. Her eyes were foggy with pain. Her injuries were rapidly catching up to her as the adrenaline began to bleed away.

Aegon knelt down beside them. "Watch the arm! Watch the arm!" he demanded, corralling Senya away from what was clearly the most immediately apparent and grievous injury. Whirling back to the approaching Connington, he shouted at the Hand of the King. "Get a bloody maester."

"Lord Stannis is already searching." Connington answered as he dismounted, marching up to the three of them. His face was grim. "You disobeyed the King's command, Joan," he said, clear disappointment coating his voice.

Joan swallowed thickly, and Aegon noticed the tint of red at her teeth. "Sick," She rasped. "Not fit to fight him. Gotten killed." She seemed to laugh, a sound at the edge of delirium. He'd learned enough from Maester Pycelle to recognize the beginnings of what the maester called 'shock.' "Doesn't matter…if I lost…less bastard daughter in the world." She said it so _gleefully_ her voice tinged with illogical hysteria, that all Aegon could feel was a sickening _horror_.

The hoofbeats of horses alerted him to Stannis' approach, the maester right on his heels. The lord of Storms end wasted no time in barking out a curt order to the man. "Treat her quickly!"

Joan seemed to recognize his voice. "St-stannis," she gasped, even as her eyes threatened to roll into the back of her head. "Have to say… have to say sorry to Lord Stannis."

"There is nothing to forgive," the man said bluntly from where he sat on his horse "My brother was a traitor and he is dead."

Joan shook her head, giggling. "No. Not for that. I had to say a few unsavory things in order to get Robert to leave the castle. I'm sure that your mother was a sweet and kind lady and not a pox-riddled whore."

Once again, Aegon found himself stunned.

Then he was fighting back the creeping amusement that threatened to overtake him. _"Do not laugh,"_ he told himself even as the urge started to bubble up, _"Don't even snigger."_ What she said wasn't funny in any shape or form. And yet, she sounded so very sincere and serious, it, made him want to laugh. He looked at his sister and saw that she too was having the same trouble. Despite the urge to let loose, he kept his laughter bottled inside and hoped to the gods it didn't show on his face.

"I see," Stannis said in reply. "I accept your apology and have no need to hear the rest of what you said." He looked Connington. "With your permission, Lord Hand, I will go into Storm's End, find Renly, and put things to right."

"Go, Lord Stannis," answered Connington. "I will join you shortly. Make certain no further harm comes to the Princess Rhaenys."

Stannis nodded, and kicked at his horse, The maester asked the siblings to help move Joan, Aegon did so, leaning down and grabbing Joan by her good arm as Visenya grabbed her by the head and torso.

Dragging her, and laying her on the stretcher that had been tied to the maester's horse, the Targaryen siblings began to make their way back to the camp.

 **Joan**

(Location: King's Landing)

As Joan watched the raven fly towards Winterfell, her heart was worried. What would her uncle say when he received the news? Would he hate her? Robert's landing and assault on the Stormlands was no secret. Still, there was a time when he called Eddard Stark brother. _"I hope he can forgive me.,"_ she thought to herself.

She descended from the rookery, finding Ser Jaime waiting for her outside the door. "Your Highness, the king and queen wish to see you," he said. The sun was setting just outside the window, burning orange in the darkening sky.

A quiet sense of trepidation passed through her. She refused to let it show on her face. "What is they want now?" she asked.

"I don't know, your Highness," he answered, an apology on his features. "They wish to see you in the throne room."

Those words didn't comfort her. She squared her shoulders feeling a phantom pain in her still healing arm. "Take me to them." Jamie nodded, turning sharply and walking with her through the Red Keep.

She wondered what exactly it could be that they were calling her for. Was it she brought Robert's son to the Red Keep so he could become a blacksmith? Was it to chastise her for refusing to have a victory march through King's Landing? She hadn't thought it was needed. She didn't want that kind of attention drawn on herself. The sycophants and court hangers on were a poison she would happily shy away from. .

As they walked, a question came to her. "How is your brother, ser?" she asked him. "Is he well?"

He smiled a little. "Tyrion is well. He sent a raven inquiring about you."

She was happy for it. The one time Tyrion Lannister came to King's Landing, he managed to find and befriend her, a rare thing before she was left at the Eyrie. Perhaps it was because he was a dwarf, but she'd felt as though she had a kindred spirit with the youngest Lannister. He didn't sneer at her or look down at her because of who she was (he couldn't look down at her at all, considering his height).

Ser Jaime came to the throne room doors and stopped, taking a place beside it. It was clear that she was to go in alone.

She stood at the door, wondering what would be on the other side. _"I wish Ghost was here."_ Her direwolf had rushed out to the godswood earlier.. He would be a comforting presence by her side.

But he wasn't here. She breathed in deep and went through the doors. The throne was empty save for the rest of her family. They all stood around a large brazier that burned brightly with serious expressions. Blackfyre was strapped to Aegon's belt, the same way Dark Sister was strapped to Rhaenys's belt. "What's going on?" she asked them.

"What were you doing in the rookery?" Rhaella asked her. She knew that this woman was her grandmother but it was hard to think of her as such since the incident with Dany.

Joan stood unapologetic. "I was sending a raven for Lord Stark, asking for his forgiveness."

"Why?"

"I killed his best friend."

"Robert Baratheon was a traitor to the realm," Elia declared sternly.

She looked her stepmother in the eyes. "That might be so, but there was a time when he and Lord Stark were brothers in all but blood." She looked at her siblings. Once again, she was struck by how beautiful the three of them were. Really, no human should be able to look that beautiful. They were Targaryens, through and through. It made her feel inadequate, like she could never have what they had.

"What's going on?" She asked.

It was Rhaegar who answered, staring into the flames. "We're doing something that we should've done when you first came back to us, Joan." She felt her eyebrow raise, equal parts curious and more than a little confused.

He stepped back from the brazier and motioned for her to come forward. She walked to the brazier. There was something inside. She looked and saw a dragon egg nestled within the flames. "Viserys came back to us with four dragon eggs," Father said behind her. "When he died, we set the eggs on his pyre. From that fire, three hatched and became the dragons your brother and sisters ride. But one did not hatch. We wondered why it was so. Now we know. It was because you were not with us."

"… _That's it?"_ All of this, them being alone in the throne room, with the brazier, it was to give her a dragon? Other people might've been overjoyed to be offered such a thing. She didn't feel these things.

All she really felt was anger. She didn't _need_ a dragon. _They_ did. This was _for them_ … _their_ benefit. Not hers.

She was tempted to turn her back on them all and walk out. But Daenerys reached out and took her by the hand. "Come, Joan," she said, a joyful smile on her face. She was pulled to the brazier.

Rhaella held a dagger out for her, the three-headed dragon crest shining clearly on the hilt. "Blood must be freely offered," she told Joan.

She took the knife and looked at the brazier. She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for her to do what they wanted. As much as she wanted to leave, they wanted to see this come true.

She held her hand out over the fire, the heat curling around her skin. She pressed the dagger against her palm and cut it open. She hissed with the pain but turned her hand around still and plunged it into the fire. It was warm in there, even warmer still when she grasped the egg and pulled it free. There was no blood in her hand as she lifted out of the brazier. It all vanished. It was heavier than she expected, forcing her to hold it in both hands. She held it in the air and saw how the grey scales glinted like smoke in the fire's light.

It started to shake in her hands. She heard everyone hold their breath with anticipation. There was a feeling in her mind as she looked at the shaking egg, something that was not her own. It was looking for something inside her. She realized what it was. The dragon inside the egg was reaching out to her, trying to connect with her, form a bond.

She reacted instantly, reaching out for Ghost. Their minds connected. And they denied it.

The feeling vanished from her mind and the egg stopped shaking. Silence reigned supreme over the throne room, broken only by the fire in the brazier. "What happened?" asked Visenya. "Why did the egg stop shaking?"

The egg was plucked from Joan's hands. "How is this possible?" Daenerys asked, looking at the egg, turning it around in her hands, trying to see if there was some kind of physical defect. "We did everything right. Blood was offered and was taken." She looked at the rest of the family. "Did something go wrong?"

" _Something did,"_ Joan thought to herself. And it was something that she did. But she wouldn't let them know that. "It's no great loss," she declared.

She turned from the brazier and found all their eyes looking incredulously at her. "No great loss?" Rhaella repeated. "Do you know of what you speak of, girl?"

Of course she did know. She looked her grandmother in the eyes. "It's a fire-breathing lizard that flies. There are already three of them in the world." She started for the door.

"Joan," called her Father. "You will not walk away from this. You have no idea what you are giving up."

She stopped in her tracks. Anger at his words grew in her blood. "I'd be giving up an egg that wouldn't hatch."

"You're giving up more than that, Joan," Rhaella said to her.

"I don't think I am. If there's nothing else, I'll see myself out." She went for the door again.

"Don't turn your back on this, girl!" Rhaegar ordered, using that voice that could make grown men kneel. "This is your legacy, your birthright! It is all you could have wanted!"

Hearing those words, the absolute surety of his voice, her temper snapped. She whirled around back to face them, the words spilling out of her mouth and filling the air. "I wanted a father!" They fell silent as she shouted at them, their eyes widening with surprise. But she wasn't done. Everything came out. "I wanted a mother! I wanted a brother and sisters! I wanted a family that loved me! But what did I get? A man who took my name as easily as pulling meat from a barrel, a hypocrite that loathed the very sight of me, and people who would shift the blame onto me whenever they did something wrong so they could avoid the punishment!

Her glare felt like it could have cut through stone. Damning them with nothing but her gaze."The one thing I wanted from you all, the one thing that should be given freely, But instead I have to hatch another dragon? Fuck you and fuck the dragon egg!"

Her raging voice turned into a ragged laugh. "You're all so concerned about the prophecy, never once have you thought that it was already fulfilled!" She threw her arms wide and mocking. "Behold, Father! I am the fourth head, the silent dragon, the one who people remember for something entirely! Orys Baratheon stands before you!" The hall rang with her shouts as she fell silent to catch her breath. No one dared to say a word. She looked at them all with eyes full of pain and anger. "I never should've left the North," she declared, leaving the throne room for good.

"Joan!" she heard Aegon call out from behind her. She didn't stop. She kept walking until she felt his hand on her arm. "Joan, wait a moment."

She whirled around and stared him down. "What, Aegon?" she all but growled at him.

He flinched a little at the venom in her voice. "You have to know, the egg wasn't my idea."

Was that supposed to comfort her? "You didn't stop it from happening."

"Do you honestly think that I could've? Once Father is onto something, it's impossible to make him stop."

"Really?" she asked, full of derision. "He wouldn't do something for his precious heir and prince that was promised?"

"I can't _control_ what he thinks." Aegon protested. She turned around again but he stopped her again. "Is this about our childhood?"

"And what if it is?"

He frowned, taking a breath. "Joan, I'm sorry."

He sounded like he meant those words. But she was still so angry at everything. "No, you're not." She broke free of his grip and kept on walking.

She reached her door and found Rhaenys there. She didn't know how she got there before her, but seeing her standing, she looked like her mother writ young. "What do you want?" she demanded.

"Are you alright?" Rhaenys asked, actually sounding concerned for her.

It angered her more. She glared at her eldest sibling. An urge to yell at her, perhaps even strike her, burned through her body. "Go away," she snarled, pushing past her and going into her room.

She paced around the room. There too much energy was burning through her and she didn't know what to do with it. She grabbed a sack and started opening draws. She took clothes out but didn't toss them into the sack. In the end, she just put them back in the drawers. By the time she finally stopped, she had walked around the room five times with nothing to show for it. Disgusted, she threw the sack to the ground.

If she was truthful, she was conflicted. She wanted to go back north, to that little cottage in the wolfswood. But Maester Aemon…he asked her to try on his deathbed.

She had tried but it was just harder than it should've been. She slumped against a chair and glared at the fire burning in front of her.

She heard the door open but didn't realize who it was until she heard her name. "Joan," said Visenya. She walked into the room, closing the door behind her and standing by the fire.

She came to her feet, her anger ready to burn again. "Oh great, you," she said with a bite. "What? Are you going to try talking to me now?"

Her little sister opened her mouth but closed it again when she saw the sack on the ground. "Are you leaving?" she asked.

"I'm considering it." She bent down to pick up the sack again. "Frankly, I don't feel like being _used_ rather than valued..."

"That's not true, Joan."

She laughed with a bitterness that came from the long years of resentment, now finally bubbling up to the surface. Too intense to be suppressed and held back any longer. She looked at Visenya, disdain her voice. "Go back to your _family,_ 'Senya."

"I'm sure Father had a reason—" she ventured.

"There shouldn't be a _reason_ for me to have family care for you!"

Anger burned in Visenya's eyes, just as hot as Joan's did. "We do care!" she said back, her voice rising.

She snorted derisively. "You _needed_ me, Visenya. That's all that's ever gotten any of you to look at me with anything more than the way you'd look at a street rat." It was Visenya who took the longest to warm up to her and it took a war to actually finish it!

Her little sister looked like she wanted to shout, to yell. Her hands trembled from the anger coursing through her. But she didn't do what Joan had expected. She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. "Just what do I have to prove that I care?"

"Why don't you strip and crawl on all fours to me?" Joan said carelessly, turning her back. Her voice was careless, throwing out words she didn't think about. Then she heard the sound of clothes sliding down skin. She looked back and was stunned by what she was seeing. "What are you doing?!"

Visenya had pulled off her tunic and was now pulling down her hose. "What you told me to do," she said, still pulling them down.

She felt her cheeks blush and she quickly turned away. "I was japing!" she said. She didn't expect her to go that far!

But the sounds didn't stop. They kept going until they didn't any more. She knew what it meant. She kept her back turned, until she heard Visenya speak. "Joan, look at me."

Her feet moved on their own, turning her around. As soon as she caught view of Visenya, Joan's breath stopped and felt her throat dry. Visenya stood before the fire, completely naked. She could see everything. That was probably the point. It worked. Out of the three of her siblings, she had always considered Visenya to be the most beautiful of them. It was like she was the best parts of Aegon and Rhaenys mixed into one. Her being shorter didn't diminish the beauty but rather enhanced it. Her Dornish skin suited her purple eyes perfectly. Her hair was the Valyrian silver-gold color but had the Martell curls to it, making it look exotic. The fire played with the light in the room, making the shadows dance across her body like a moving tapestry.

She was beautiful, almost like a goddess. And then she started to go down on all fours. "Stop, stop!" cried Joan. "I get it!"

She stopped and looked at her. "Do you know that I care now?"

She looked away, unable to look her in the eyes. She felt ashamed. "I do. Put your clothes back on, okay?"

Visenya didn't do as she was asked. Instead, she walked up to her sister, getting close. She reached out and made Joan look at her. "Joan, I know what we did was…wrong," she said. She sounded almost like she had to force that last word out.

Joan was angered by it. That was all she could say about what they did? "Wrong?" she repeated. "You three left me alone whenever I dared to play with you. I was punished for what you did wrong. If you had the chance to defend me, you would've rather fled. You yourself didn't like me. When we were in Winterfell, you wanted to call me a—"

"I know!" Visenya snapped, her temper rising up. But she stopped herself and said again, "I know. We took after our mother and didn't realize what it meant until you were gone. I'm sorry for how we treated you. But things are different now. We can be different. We can change. But it can't happen without you." She looked up at Joan, her heart and hope in her eyes. "Don't go. Stay here, Joan, please."

She looked at her little sister. Her words said one thing but she felt that they meant another. Her eyes were so full of emotions that she never would've thought to see in them. "Why?" she asked them. "Why do you want this?"

Visenya didn't tell her. She stepped in close, pushed a strand of her hair back, and kissed her on the lips. Her lips tasted like spice. She was engulfed by the sense of the kiss, like fire washing down over her. She couldn't do anything to stop it all. She didn't want to. She started kissing Visenya back.

She didn't know how but she was pushed back to the bed without breaking the kiss. Visenya removed her tunic. Her breasts felt the open and puckered. Her little sister started kissing them and more, making her shudder and gasp at the feeling of her tongue. When Visenya finally pulled away from them to kiss her on the lips, her hands reached up and undid her hair from its tail. Once it was done, she pushed Joan to the bed and descended upon her. Pleasure rode through her from both parts of her body and all she could do was moan with need.

Throughout the entire time, with each motion and action, Visenya breathed a prayer to her. "Don't go." She said it again and again, filling her ears with it. "Don't go." The words were full of her love and need for her. It seemed like this was the final act she could do to convince her to stay. "Don't go."

Joan heard it again and again. Not only did she hear Visenya say the words, she heard Aegon and Rhaenys too. That was they came after her. They wanted what Visenya wanted. They wanted her to stay. "Alright," she finally said, on her bed clad only in her pants. "Alright, you win. I won't go."

Visenya paused in her kissing. "You'll stay?" she asked her, glowing in the light of the fire.

"Yes."

She smiled brightly. "Thank you," she said. Once the words were said, she collapsed to the bed, falling down to her side. With no hesitation, she snuggled into her side.

Joan looked down at her sister, already sleeping soundly against her side. She wondered what the outcome of this would be. But she also wondered if Aegon and Rhaenys felt the same. They did come after her. That had to mean something, right? She hoped it did. But for now, she was going to sleep alongside Visenya.

 **End**

 **Author's note:** Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

This is a story that was inspired by TheEagleGirl's _Visenya_ series on AO3. That is one hell of a series to read. If you got time to read it and any of the other works, I urge to do so. They are very good. I'm still waiting for those pictures he said he was drawing on the series.

If I have surprised people with my portrayal of Elia in this story in contrast to my other one, than I have succeeded in my attempt. Let me know what you think.

If anyone has a hard time picturing Visenya, think Tori Kelly with a slighter darker skin tone. And Joan's hair is basically Belle's from _Beauty and the Beast_ (the animated version, not live-action), albeit just a little bit longer.

The song that Joan played during the feast is called _The Blood of Cu Chulainn_. Try listening to it while you read that part of the story. I found that it helped.

Some people might have a hard believing that Joan could've possibly won the fight against Robert Baratheon. I don't blame them. In a straight up, honorable, fight, Joan would've lost and died. That's why she pulled that move with the helmet. One look at her and Robert was frozen solid, giving her that golden opportunity.

Personally, I believe that the dragon doesn't have three but four heads. I believe that Orys was Aegon's bastard brother and he's never mentioned in the prophecy because it would ruin the imagery of three Targaryens saving Westeros, at least according to Rhaegar. So far the only other story that's shares this belief of mine is _No Featherbed for Me_ by lit_chicko8. Read that and you'll see what I'm getting at.

I would like to thank the Fanfiction author Carstein for helping me out with the rewrite of this chapter. He pointed out a few downsides to the original story and offered some suggestions. He even helped rewrite it. So if you think it's different, that would be his influence.

I'll see you all next chapter!


	2. The Warrior

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Emergence of the Dragon

Chapter 2: The Warrior

"Talking"

" _Thinking"_

 **Oberyn**

(Location: Red Keep)

The last time he had ever seen Joan Targaryen, she had been nothing more than a scared little girl. He wondered why that would be so. She was a princess of the realm, with all the luxuries and safety that could afford. Then his sister and her children had answered his question. That night, he saw a side of his sister that he didn't think that she had.

He left the next day, taking his paramour and his children. He told Elia that he would only return once he heard that she was treating Joan as she always should have like a daughter.

When he heard that she had vanished, it had made him sad, and with a quiet, unspoken dread that he dared not voice, that his sister perhaps had been responsible in some way.

But she was not, and the rumors as always traveled faster than sound and he learned that she had disappeared when the royal family hadn't been looking. Just as people had all but given her up for dead, the girl appeared in the North, under the protection of her uncle. Oberyn had heard tales that she lived amongst the wildings and that she only came south to honor the last wish of the ancient blind dragon in black, Maester Aemon.

The king held a tourney soon enough, to celebrate the defeat of Robert Baratheon, that old enemy. Inviting everyone from the north, all the way south to Dorne. But he last he had heard, Joan could barely tolerate being in King's Landing.

So he resolved to not go. Elia had not earned his visit, presumptuous as that might sound. But Doran had insisted, his ever so patient and calm brother reminding him that Dorne had a place in the seven Kingdoms and it would not sit well with anyone if they thought the Crown's closest allies were distant.

If they were too distant to attend a tourney, they would certainly be too distant to aid the crown after all. So Oberyn had relented, breaking his promise and he Ellaria, their daughters, Arianne, and Quentyn were soon on their way to the capital.

The journey was long, and unbearably boring as it always was, but when they finally sailed their ships into the royal port at the back of the Red Keep, Oberyn could spy the black dragon of the Targaryen's from the deck.

He saw Joan sparring in the yard with her eldest sister, Rhaenys. There was a white mound of fur dozing off in the corner, but he was more concerned about the women.

They didn't notice him yet, even as he stepped off the deck onto the shore ahead of the others, making his way closer, so very curious. It became clear that Joan was the better warrior of the two. She led the spar, using her spear against Dark Sister in Rhaenys's hand. His niece held her off as best she could but soon her Valyrian steel sword was knocked out of her hands. They stayed in place for a moment, the spear resting at Rhaenys's throat. "I told you," Joan said, "watch my eyes."

"That's easier said than done," Rhaenys protested.

"Only for you," she said back but with no venom. She pulled back the spear and bent down to retrieve the sword. She offered the hilt to her sister. "You need to practice, Rhaenys."

There was a whistle, sharp and loud coming from the boat Arianne. It echoed across the yard, finally getting their attention. Rhaenys turned to look and she smiled widely. She was truly Elia's daughter, especially when she smiled. "Uncle, cousins, welcome!" she exclaimed, hurrying over to them.

Her sister hung back, resting her spear on her shoulder and observing them with a neutral look. Oberyn took to doing the same to her. He saw that just like Rhaenys, Joan Targaryen was her mother writ young. There were differences. When he had seen Lyanna Stark at Harrenhal, her hair flew freely and her eyes were bright and innocent. Her daughter kept her hair pulled back into a tail and her grey eyes were like steel, guarded. Strangely enough, she wore no kind of padded armor even though she was just sparring. He noticed something else about her. There an earring in her left ear made of iron. There was no artwork on the metal and it was not fashioned into a particular design. It was a simple band of iron pierced through her ear.

Once Rhaenys had hugged and greeted them all, she looked back. "Joan, come over here. Meet the rest of the family," she said with a smile. Oberyn felt infinitely pleased toward her once he realized that she was treating her half-sister like a part of her family, as she should have.

Joan approached cautiously, her hand holding her spear with a small tightness. She looked as if she was approaching a pack of wild beasts. That is, until she reached them. She looked down at Oberyn's youngest daughters. "Obella, Dorea, Loreza," she said, looking at each of them.

They broke into wide grins and swarmed her. Soon their three voices began chattering over one another in an effort to get her attention. Their elder sisters stood back and watched her with judging eyes. Arianne did the same. She was the only one who had gone to King's Landing and not sing praises about the girl. Then again, she didn't spend much time with her either.

Oberyn watched her smile slightly as she listened to his daughters. She answered each of their questions patiently, like she was their mother instead of Ellaria. When they finally quieted down, she looked at the rest of them. "Princess Arianne, Prince Quentyn, Prince Oberyn," she greeted the nobles first, as politeness dictated.

Oberyn stepped towards her. "Hello again, little wolf," he said, using the old name he had given her back when she was a frighten child. He looked at her and smiled like she was one of his daughters. "Although I suppose I can't call you little anymore."

She smiled back at him. "It's good to see you again, Prince Oberyn."

"So you were sparring." He looked over at his royal niece. "If I remember correctly, Obara had to threaten you with being locked out of the library to make you come out to train in the yard." What made it particularly amusing was how Tyene and Sarella would fight to keep Rhaenys in the library.

Rhaenys smiled a little. She remembered the same thing. But the smile did not spread to the rest of her face like he knew it always had. "Things change, dearest uncle. After Robert Baratheon had taken me…"

Oberyn's fists tightened behind his back. The minute he had received that news, he had wanted to ride to Storm's End and take Robert's head himself. Joan looked towards Rhaenys, spear leaning against her shoulder as her right hand rubbed at her left forearm a strange expression on her face. "The man is dead," she told her. "Let's leave it at that."

Rhaenys looked at her little sister and nodded. "I suppose you're right, Joan."

"By the way, your Highness," Arianne said with a hint of sympathetic mocking. "You seem to be missing an earring."

The Targaryen princess looked at the Martell boldly. "I'm not missing anything," she said. She reached up and flicked the earring with a single finger. "This is right where it's supposed to be."

"What is it?" Quentyn asked her. He was so quiet sometimes, Oberyn forgot he was there.

"A memento from the battle with Robert Baratheon," she told them, lowering her finger. "It is the only thing that remains of his war hammer."

Oberyn looked at it with a new eye. His youngest daughters looked at with complete awe. Quentyn was just as impressed and Arianne was slightly less so. Ellaria looked at the earring a little more closely. "It's a bit plain, isn't it?" she asked. She did like to wear jewelry people could recognize.

Joan shrugged her shoulders. "It's fine. I wanted it like this."

"Why did you only get one instead of two?"

She became serious, almost as if she was about to give a lesson. "It's something I took from my teacher amongst the Free Folk."

"Free Folk?" repeated Quentyn. He was frowning in confusion. He didn't know who they were supposed to be.

Oberyn saw how she was trying to restrain the urge to sigh in exasperation. It was a little amusing. "You call them wildings." She ignored all the looks of recognition and continued on. "My teacher is the best spearwife of them all. She had this old, battered ring in her ear. I asked her about it once, wondering where it came from. She told me it came from the first person who nearly killed her in battle. She was able to win but she took that ring from him and kept it for herself. It was a reminder of how someone could easily kill her as she could kill them."

She turned nostalgic as she talked about her past. There was a slight smile to her lips as she spoke. Oberyn could tell that she did not regret her time amongst the wildings and perhaps even missed them. He noticed Rhaenys frowning too. She looked confused. "Wait, if that's a memento, why do you still have that piece of surcoat tied to your spear?"

"That's my trophy from the victory," she told her sister. "It's something that she also taught me."

Now Oberyn wanted to see how well Joan could wield her spear. "Would you care to indulge me, Princess?" he asked her.

She looked at him with idle curiosity. "With what?" she asked him.

He walked over to the nearby weapon rack. He pulled off a spear and tested its weight. It was suitable "A spar," he said.

Rhaenys became concerned. "Uncle is that truly wise?" she asked him. Her sister stayed silent. "You just finished sailing from Dorne to King's Landing. You're tired."

"My darling niece, I would have thought you knew that an attack could come at any time and any place." He kept his eyes on Joan, who watched him back, her spear resting on her shoulder. "Would you like to test me, little wolf?" he asked her.

She nodded once. "If you insist," she said.

They stepped away from the others, back into the yard proper. Oberyn took notice of how she held her spear. As he had seen before, she knew how to wield it. She moved confidently, the long shaft of her weapon unhampering her. _"This will be an interesting little fight,"_ he thought to himself.

He started to move towards her. She responded differently. "Gods, it's hot," she said, planting her spear's butt on the earth. With her other hand, she started to pull at her tunic, pulling it upwards.

" _What is she doing?"_ he wondered. Her tunic came up, revealing pale skin and her breasts. He looked at them and could admit that they were quite lovely. They were neither too large or too small but formed perfectly to her bod—

A sudden weight shoved him to the ground, right on his face. He tried to get up, only to find sharp teeth clamped around his neck. He turned his eyes up and saw a wolf on top of him, pure white fur coating it. Cold metal touched his chin. He looked at Joan, who had her tunic pulled back down. "I don't fight fair," she said. "Ghost, off."

The wolf climbed off and went to his mistress's side. As soon as he was off, Oberyn's family swarmed around him. They helped him get back to his feet, making sure that he was alright. He was glad for the attention but his eyes found Joan. She watched them all with that guarded look again. But there was also a longing and sadness. She looked as if she wanted to be a part but knew she couldn't.

Without saying another word, she turned and left them. Her wolf padded behind her. Rhaenys realized that she had left too late, turning her head to see her go back inside the Red Keep. "Damn it," she muttered. "Now I'll have to go find her and make sure she knows that everything is fine." She didn't sound irritated by the idea, but more looked at him. "Did you really have to challenge her to a spar, Uncle?"

"I was interested in what she would do," he replied without shame. "I hadn't expected that." It was certainly something original.

"I'm surprised, Rhae," Arianne said. She looked at her cousin with a curious expression, like she was trying to understand some kind of puzzle. "The last I remember your half-sister could barely stand being in the same room as you. She practically ignored any attempt made for reconciliation."

Oberyn watched both his nieces. When she had gone to King's Landing before, Arianne told him and Doran that she didn't pay much attention to Joan. She had only said that she was short and cold whenever they were together. It was clear to him that Arianne didn't have a high opinion of Joan.

"Things change, Arianne," Rhaenys told her. "So do people. Joan's not the same as she was before." Just hearing those words told Oberyn that his niece was different too.

"I find that hard to believe. The way I've seen things just now, she's still the same."

Her face darkened. "She was asleep for three days after her battle with Robert Baratheon, her body battered and bruised, her arm all but broken and covered in wooden splinters from her shield. The first thing she did when she woke up was ask after me. Aegon and Visenya had to force her to stay in the bed because she wanted to go check on me." She looked hard at her cousin. "Tell me she's still the same now."

Arianne was surprised by the emotions coating her voice and her face. But she didn't give Arianne the answer she wanted to hear. Instead she looked at her brother. "I would say that you are going to have an interesting time trying to court her, Quentyn."

Quentyn just blushed at that. Oberyn's youngest daughters giggled at the blush and his eldest smirked. "What do you mean 'court?'" Rhaenys asked. There was a different tone to her voice. She tried to hide it by sounding curious but Oberyn heard it all the same.

"You don't know?" her cousin asked her. "This isn't just a tourney to celebrate your half-sister's victory against the rebel stag. The king has invited all eligible men of noble houses to come and court Joan. He hopes to see her betrothed by the end of the tourney."

Oberyn watched his niece's eyes flash with anger and outrage. Her hand tightened its grip on Dark Sister. For a moment she looked like she wanted to draw it and go cutting her way through the Red Keep until she reached her father and demanded an explanation. "I…see," she finally said with a tight voice. "If you all will pardon me, I have something to discuss with my family."

He would've felt a bit insulted that she didn't consider them to be family. But there was something about the way she said those words and how she walked away from, her pace angry yet quick. If he didn't know any better, Oberyn would've thought that Rhaenys was…jealous. _"Well, if she is,"_ he thought to himself as the Dornish party finally went inside the Red Keep to find their customary rooms, _"This will certainly be interesting."_

 **Jaime**

(Location: Red Keep)

Jaime had been surprised to hear that the tourney was also a way for Princess Joan to get a potential husband. Though probably not for the reasons people would assume.

It was of course, a father's right and privilege to marry his daughters, doubly so when that father was a king. So the fact that it was going to happen didn't surprise him, what surprised him was how soon it was. From what he could tell the princess was only just starting to _tolerate_ her life here. This seemed like a grandiose way to completely destroy any progress the family had made towards that vaunted "reconciliation" they supposedly sought. Especially since he didn't know if she knew about the betrothal to begin with. There was no way to tell. She might be a dragon by blood but the princess's temper was all wolf, a quiet snarling thing that you weren't aware of until it pounced.

He had a fleeting suspicion right now, as he stood here with his family, listening to his father giving Joffrey some last few instructions. That he would be privileged enough to witness said temper finally be unleashed while he was close enough to actually _see_ the carnage. Even more amusing that it might very well be unleashed on Joffrey. The gods knew that it tested histemper whenever he had to deal with his eldest nephew. He had long suspected that Cersei's husband, one of Lord Serrett's sons (he forgot which really), had gotten himself shot during the Greyjoy Rebellion on purpose so he would not have to deal with Joffrey any longer. Pity for him it only gave him a limp.

"Do you understand?" said Lord Tywin Lannister, sitting at the table before his grandson. Joffrey didn't answer from where he lounged in the chair.

"He does, Father," Cersei told him, sitting by her son. Myrcella and Tommen sat close by her too. Her husband wasn't there, having stayed back at Casterly Rock. "Joffrey will do what is best for the family." She gave her son a look herself.

Joffrey slouched in his chair just enough to look like he didn't want to be there. "Yes, yes, I'll court the girl, make her fall in love with me, and make sure she begs her father for my hand," he said without much care.

Tyrion sat across from him, eating a full and hearty breakfast and drinking frequently from his goblet full of Arbor gold. "You sound as if this will be a simple thing to do, beloved nephew," he said, brushing his fingers against each other to wipe away the crumbs from the toast, the last words heavy with sarcasm. "Courting a princess of the Iron Throne is a daunting task."

Joffrey sneered at him. "What would you know of that?"

"Absolutely nothing," he replied. "The princesses are a bit young for me."

Father looked at them both. "Enough," he said and they all obeyed. He was Tywin Lannister and he made them listen. "Now—"

The door to their chamber was knocked upon, loudly. They all stared at it. Jaime glanced at his father and saw he didn't look surprised. He never did. Being the Kingsguard in the room, Jaime walked over to the door and opened it. "Princess Joan," he said surprised, and more than a little perturbed when he saw his favorite princess standing there.

"Jaime," she said, looking up at him. She was happy to see him but there was seriousness in her eyes. "I was invited.?"

" _Father certainly isn't wasting any time,"_ he thought.

He bowed, stepping aside to let her in, a better man than him might have tried to give her some warning. He would settle for making sure that if by some miracle his nephew did not royally screw this up that he would warn the girl well out of earshot of any of his family to stay away. There were certainly better men than him out there but he tended to live longer than those men in his experience.

She smiled, stepping past the door and striding in. He followed her in and kept back. Now he was a Kingsguard, not a Lannister. He noticed how Cersei and Joffrey straightened in their seats just a bit. She was keeping him from sight so he could quickly correct his posture. He watched the princess walk over to Tyrion, smirking. "Started without me I see, Lord Tyrion," she said to him.

Tyrion smiled, up at the girl, taking her offered hand and kissing it. "Forgive me princess, just a bit of toast to combat the headache. I promise I haven't taken a bite off my plate besides that."

"Too much wine again?" She smiled, taking a seat beside him. "It's good to see you again."

He raised the goblet to her. "And you as well, Princess. You are certainly different from the last time we met."

"Things have happened."

"I believe the Seven Kingdoms know that things have happened. My question is would you be willing to tell me a few tales of what happened. I'm sure they would be interesting."

She smiled. "Of course, I'd be happy to."

Lord Tywin didn't say anything. All he did was look pointedly at Tyrion and it was as though his brother could feel that stare at his head like a brand. He cleared his throat Ah, Princess, I have been remiss, allow me to formally introduce you to my lord father, Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock. Warden of the West."

The smile did not leave her face but Jamie noticed the change in her eyes, it was a subtle thing, like the summer snows of the north a moment before they became a snap freezing blizzard. as she looked at Jaime's father. There was a hardness to her now. He remembered that she had spent a great deal with the Mad King when she had been a child, the same king that had hated his father. Suddenly he felt like her meeting him wasn't a good idea. But it was too late now.

"So," said the princess leaning back a bit in her chair, fingers interlacing over each other, "you're the lion everyone's so scared of?" She looked him over. "I don't see why everyone is afraid of you."

Lord Tywin did nothing more than pluck a grape from his plate, placing it in his mouth before answering. "Do old mummers tales and minstrels songs impress you so?" And Jamie Lannister had to swallow down his own balking surprise at what must have been the closest approximation to a self-deprecating joke his father had ever said.

The princess must have been surprised to, because he could see even she seemed to momentarily lose that common mix of aloof disregard she held for most people. Her father did not give her time to recover. He saw an opening and took it. It seemed he was playing a different kind of war with the girl than one Jamie had ever seen him playing before. "My grandson, Joffrey," he said to her gesturing to Cersei's firstborn, reaching for a cup filled with water. "I'm sure you've come to meet him."

Joffrey had enough sense, or memory of his lessons on courtesy to stand from his seat, bowing just enough to seem respectful but not enough to seem overly pathetic in his attempt. He smiled with all the charm in him and Jamie could almost say he was impressed at the act "Greetings, Princess," he said, coming forward to her. "We from the Westerlands have heard of your great beauty. Truly, you give your family credit." He reached out for her hand and kissed the back of it.

She waited for him to stop kissing and straighten his posture before pulling her hand away. Those eyes of hers gave away the story. Joan Targaryen was a girl many who did not know her could not read. But he'd known her since she was a girl and had spent quite some time with her since her return. It was always in the eyes. And these eyes were the ones that looked now on _prey_.

"You say words like that, it makes me think you want something," came her reply

Joffrey kept smiling. "I only wish to have the honor of courting you. Just looking at your beauty makes me half in love with you already."

"Really?" she asked. "That's quite different from what you were saying riding into King's Landing. Tell me, have you decided on whether to call me dragon slut, wolf bitch, or just bastard whore?"

She spoke those words as if she was just talking about the weather or someone from the court. Jaime watched his nephew blushed hard from the insult. Quickly morphing into a horrified sort of shock. "I- how did you-"

"So glad you didn't try to lie," she cut him off. "That would have just made it worse for you."

Joffrey's features were quickly morphing into rage and all the civility and handsomeness was quickly burning away "You—"

"Did you say that, boy?"

The words were soft, almost quiet, like rolling thunder from a storm far, far, out to sea, and Joffrey's voice died on his lips as he turned around to look at the cold eyes of his grandfather, who did little more than pluck at another grape.

He seemed at a loss for words, but his lord father seemed to find all the answer he needed on his face. "I'd hoped, being raised in your mother's house, under her roof would have at least taught you proper manners and how to speak to women. But it seems you're too useless for even that small matter. Get out of my sight."

Joffrey looked stunned, Cersei's attempt at some kind of intervention died a little past the word "Father" as Tywin's dark green eyes rolled onto her like a lion spotting an uppity rodent.

With no support and the word of Tywin tearing into him, he watched his nephew beat a very quick, very humiliating retreat out of the room. "Please accept," Tywin spoke as the door closed behind Joffrey, "the formal apologies of house Lannister."

If the Stranger himself would have marched into the room, brought his mother back from the dead and proceeded to kick Jamie in the balls, Tywin's eldest son might have been less shocked. Judging by how Cersei's face seemed to be changing colors and Tyrion choked on his wine, he believed they were in agreement with him.

Joan looked at the old lion. "Are you playing a new kind of game Lord Tywin?" She smirked. "Are _you_ going to try courting me?"

Tywin didn't even twitch at the taunt. "You are a princess of the realm. You are owed proper respect."

"My grandfather told me you stabbed him in the back. He _hated_ you. It didn't seem like you much cared for the feelings of royalty then."

Tywin's green eyes turned on her like they did to Cersei. "Aerys was mad."

"Doesn't change what he said."

Tywin finally seemed to straighten in his seat, offering the girl his full and undivided attention. "Friendship was a one lane road with your grandfather. He finally found a roadblock when he demanded of me what I could never give." Jamie, frankly, had absolutely no idea what the two were talking of but they were both clearly on the same page of this conversation. "If that offends you then I offer no more apology to you than I did to him."

For a long moment, there was silence at the table, the food of all parties was well and truly cold at this point but no one moved to pick up a single utensil or piece of fruit or meat. If Tommen and Myrcella could have been swallowed by their chairs they likely would have done so and if Tyrion and Cersei could have shoved their chairs back and into the far walls, they probably would have done so too just to get away from where they sat between the snarling lion and growling wolf.

Joan took a breath. It was clear she was struggling with what she heard and what she knew. Jaime watched her and wonder what she would do next. But then her eyes settled and they retained their disregard. He knew that it meant she was going to keep hating his father, no matter what he said.

"Liar." Without another word she stood up, fishing out a few grapes of her own from the bowl. And then, please as can be, as though she hadn't just had a conversation with Tywin Lannister, marched right over towards Jaime's still petrified niece. "Myrcella, correct?" she asked.

Myrcella seemed to jump in her seat. She was her mother come again, having all of her beauty. She looked up at the princess with a plain nervousness. "Y-Yes?" she replied. It was not surprising with how she dressed unlike ladies of the court and had a single earring.

"Come with me."

She didn't know what to do. She stayed in her chair, looking at both her mother and grandfather. Jaime felt pity for her. So he broke his silence. "Do not worry, niece. The princess is not going to harm you. She's just going to take you hunting. Who else is coming, Princess?" he asked her.

"Obella Sand, one of the younger Tyrell girls, and Lord Royce's youngest daughter," she said off-hand. He was a little surprised by her first choice. It was the first time she had picked a girl a second time. She turned back for the door. "Come on." Myrcella stood up and followed hesitantly. The princess looked back at her once. "We're going to have to get you a change of clothes."

With nothing more to say, she nodded towards Tyrion. "Lord Tyrion, Jamie." Then, quietly, with a look in her eye he "couldn't" identify, she turned back to his lord father. "Lord of Lannister." Her voice was as cold as the Wall.

His father nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers. "Princess."

And that was all that seemingly needed to be said. She turned and marched out with Myrcella without another word. It took a full ten seconds before anyone of them seemed to _breathe_ in his father's direction.

"What the hell was that abou—"

"Tyrion." His father's voice was almost (almost) soft. "Be silent."

Jamie, Tommen, Tyrion, and Cersei stayed rooted at their places as Lord Tywin finally broke his fast in relative quiet.

 **Eddard Stark**

(Location: Red Keep)

Starks do not fare well south. It was a warning as old as Winterfell itself, Old Nan had been the first one to tell him when she was simply "Nan." His father, brother, and sister all died in the south, his niece endured her family's quiet abuse in the south. No. The Starks did not fare well in the south.

And yet here he was. Robert Baratheon, his friend from childhood was dead, killed by his very own niece.

He had mourned Robert long ago. When his friend chose exile over surrender, Ned knew in both mind and heart he would never see his friend again. Either Robert would remain in those distant lands and die on the field or of old age, or he would return and die on the field. He'd made his peace with that. So when the news came, Eddard did not rage, he did not cry, he did not curse the gods.

He prayed instead. It was all he could do. He prayed that Robert would find the peace in death that eluded him in life. He prayed for his niece and her recovery from what must have been a difficult fight. He prayed that the seven Kingdoms would not suffer the wounds of a long war. He prayed that the Targaryens, especially Rhaegar would know that they were the cause of this. And that it was a Stark that brought it to an end at long last.

He prayed for all these things and more.

When the summons came for the tourney, Ned had tossed it aside, more than content to ignore these just the same as he had ignored all the others from Kings landing for so many years now.

Catelyn would hear none of it. The risk was too great she insisted, this insult, this _suggestion_ too blatant. To remain in the north as though angry at the loss of his friend would send the whispers through the realm and all the Kingdoms would poison the Targaryen's against them.

They had to go. He had to go. It had to be him. Luwin agreed. So had Rodrick. He had very nearly ignored them all.

It was only when he received the letter from Joan, that he decided he needed to go. That he needed to see this young woman that was nearly a daughter to him with his own two eyes. For her, not the realm, and not for Rhaegar, would he go south.

He gathered his belongings, things he would need for the long journey, and left Robb to his place as the Lord of Winterfell, offering what few instructions were important. But he was more eager to see his son manage the affairs of the house and lordship on his own.

He could have sailed from White Harbor, it would save him a week's journey. But he'd never liked sailing, so he marched, himself, and his lady wife. With a column of men at arms, twenty and five of them. Arya had wanted to come, begged him to travel with to see Joan, Sansa had done the same to see the Red Keep and Brandon for his Knights of the white cloaks and the dragons. But all of them would stay in Winterfell. He would never allow his children south if he could help it.

They passed the Neck, the crags and bogs of Howland Reed's home the final passageway before reaching the twins. He considered stopping there, visiting his longtime friend but decided to leave him to his peace. The crannogmen had little resources and hosting a party, even one so comparably small, would take what little they had to spare.

Then they were past the Frey's ancient pass, in the Riverlands proper, and there they stayed for two days, allowing his lady wife to see her childhood home again, hug her brother and her uncle before they were on their way once again. The Tully retinue, much larger than his own, joined them for the journey south.

The days grew hotter, the air smelling of grass, water and livestock, and Ned soon had to abandon the heavy fur cloak with the knowledge that now he was truly south. It would later be remarked by his men, that they'd never seen him smile the entire journey from that moment on.

When the Red Keep was finally in sight, Ned stared at the seat of the Kingdom with a quiet, subdued loathing. A stranger could not see it, but his wife could. She did not say a word when he decided the Tully's would have the "privilege" of entering the city first.

When at last they crossed the gate, it was as he remembered it, closed, like a noose around his neck, with people pressed together so tightly it was a wonder they could breathe, smelling of sweat, hot air, piss and shit. He wanted to return home.

When the herald announced them in the courtyard before the keep itself, he could see the eyes of the nobility turn to them, their tongues wagging and their whispers traveling. Some looked at him as though he might turn into a wolf and begin tearing them apart, while others turned their noses up at the sight of him.

Ned ignored them all, allowing his lady wife to take the lead in the southern pleasantries for him, smiling at some, using her courtesy as a shield against others. He was too old for this game. Too old and just indifferent to it.

When they dismounted and began the walk to the throne room, where the royal family was no doubt waiting. Ned could finally feel the air around himself again, not suffocated by a press of bodies and he allowed himself to take a deep breath.

Just before they entered, however, she came around the corner. Ned looked at her face, finding a wary, caution that wasn't there before and he wondered what these Targaryen's had done since her return.

"Lord Stark…" She had only ever called him by his formal title twice. Both times were during the first week that they'd met. And he realized then that it wasn't anything the Targaryens had done. It was him. She was afraid he would be angry with her.

He didn't say anything as he marched in close, and he saw the girl straighten her spine, seemingly bracing herself for whatever she thought was in store for her. He leaned forward and hugged her. It took a moment, something that felt interminable before he felt her arms reach up to hug him back, fingers of her hands fisting the cloak at his back. "Did you get my raven?"

"I did," He answered, pulling away. She looked down at the ground. She looked less like a princess and more like a child who had done something wrong. He reached out and lifted her cheek back up, grey eyes looking into grey eyes.

"He was your friend," she said quietly.

Ned nodded. "Yes. He was." It was simple truth, and he didn't care who heard. "It is a loss I grieve. But one I can bear. I could not have borne yours." She looked like she was ready to cry, the relief made her whole body sag.

Finally she looked behind him. "Lady Catelyn." Her eyes kept wandering.

"They're not here," he answered before she could ask. "I will not have them in this place if I can help it."

The sadness returned to her eyes, no doubt she had been looking forward to seeing her cousins again. "I suppose it's for the best."

He heard the brush of his lady wife skirts, the click of her heels as she stepped forward behind him. She smiled as kindly as she could. "Princess, we have something to give you. The Wull wanted to make sure you received this." She waved a servant forward. "He told us he wanted you to keep practicing."

It was a long object, covered in heavy cloth. Handing it over, Ned watched her unwrap it a set of pipes and a bag. "I will do as he says," she answered, smiling at Catelyn before turning her eyes to him. "Come. I suppose it's time we brought you to the throne room," she said, leading them down the hall.

They followed her, and when the doors finally opened the herald announced their presence. "Lord and Lady Stark, of Winterfell."

All at once the crowd quieted to a hush, all eyes rounding on him as Ned, with his wife by his side entered the hall. Southern silks and vibrant colors were his greetings, a harsh contrast to boiled leather and heavy wool. Only Catelyn seemed to soften the image he must make, dressed in fine dark green, smiling kindly where he only looked with cold indifference to these strangers and distant lords.

Before he knew it, he reached the throne itself. "Lord Stark…" Rhaegar's voice was something out of memory, none of them good.

Nevertheless, after a moment of staring at this man whom had stolen his sister and mistreated her child, Ned Stark did as was expected, and bowed. "Your Grace." It was meant to be a title to always be given in praise, in deference. Yet so cold was his tone he felt his wife grabbing his arm in equal measure of fear and reproach.

"Be welcome in my hall… goodbrother," Rhaegar at last said, gesturing for Ned to rise.

He did so, and met this man's eyes again, the eyes of his king. A thousand words passing between them just as they stayed silent, the chasm that would never be bridged remaining as gaping and wide as before.

"I thank you, Your Grace."

A month would pass before he left for the North again. A month before he saw the Neck, and the bogs of Greywater Watch, and felt the chill of winter cold in the summer air. A month before he would head home.

But before he could make it there, Howland Reed would not let him pass twice without a word of greeting and a surprise of his own to share with the Lord of Winterfell. A surprise about a boy with blue eyes and black hair asking after Eddard Stark.

 **Willas**

(Location: Red Keep)

Willas is not above admitting that the princess is very much unlike any woman Willas had ever known known. He wasn't sure if he should stay away or not because of that. But he couldn't stay away from her. The king had proclaimed that this tourney was also to find his daughter a husband. And Lord Mace Tyrell smelled an opportunity.

He would have brought Loras too but his youngest brother refused. Willas didn't know why but Loras would not even consider the idea of courting the youngest daughter of the king. He suspected it was because of his brother's…preferences but now he wasn't so sure.

The day he rode into King's Landing, well ahead of his family so as not to waste time, she wasn't there. He wouldn't meet her for another two days. When he did, she came through the gates without any announcement at all, a group of girls at her back with a dead animal on a sled and a white direwolf beside her.

The only reason he even saw her there was because he'd been reading a book and the courtyard of the Red Keep was surprisingly free of the traffic and bustle of the people that came with at least two dozen houses of Westeros gathering for a tourney. People were inside, plotting, scheming and backstabbing. She eyed him as a servant walked up to take the reins and she dismounted the horse, giving it a foul look in the process. Then she saw him and his cane. "You're Willas Tyrell then?" she asked him.

"I am," he replied, moving to stand.

Before he could even get a word in edgewise to continue his courtesies, she kept talking. "They say you've a specialty with horseflesh. Can you help figure out why this horse hates me?"

It was an odd start to a courtship but considering how insistent his father had been, he wasn't going to object. In the last few days the rumor mills had been full tilt and even getting her to look at any of the suitors was a task fit for a knighthood quest. Lord Tywin's grandson, Harold Hardyng were two of the more well-known rejections so far.

He would take the opening for what it was, curious or not, and in the following days, he was starting to believe that it was working, or at least that he was doing a little better than his remaining competitors. He gave her instructions in proper horsemanship as she spoke to him about the Northern wilderness amongst other things, all done in the eyes of chaperones from both his family and hers.

Just when he believed he was beginning to make some genuine headway with her, coaxing one of those hard-won smiles from her in conversation, the entirety of the Targaryen line seemingly crawled out of the woodwork to make continuing his pursuit all but impossible. Suddenly, Prince Aegon would find him and talk with him for hours about any subject he could think of ranging from politics, to finances, Princess Rhaenys would seek him out to discuss history, of his breeding methods for the horses and even medicinal solutions for the pain in his leg, and Visenya would continuously distract Joan whenever he seemed to politely excuse himself (escape) the other two.

But even so, whatever possessed them of this sudden interest in him waxed after a few days, their interest turning to other visitors of the Red Keep, it was only later that he would notice, in hindsight, that they were all his would-be rivals.

The princess Joan was an oddity, at least in his experience. She was blunt, honest, and brandished a spear like she could stab her problems until they stopped being problems. Hardly the picture of the woman he'd thought he'd marry in his childhood, or even just a year ago. But therein lied his own fascination. He wasn't in love with her, not yet, but he could see himself growing to if he let it. If she let it.

Then of course his family arrived in full splendor to the capital. His father arrived with aplomb and bombast, with his two brothers and sister, a grand spectacle to shield the quiet arrival of the Queen of Thorns right behind him, sharp eyes instantly surveying the "field of battle."

One conversation. All it took was one conversation. His father greeted the princess, with smiles, hugs, and laughter, his sister with a smile and a kiss on the cheek, and his brothers with polite courtesy. And he could see when it started to happen.

Right in front of his very eyes how those iron bars that he'd started to slip through closed so firmly once again. Her eyes becoming those cold sheets of ice that had looked at him that first day in the courtyard from atop an unruly horse. With every spoken word, the ice he'd thought he'd managed to thaw refrozen once again.

He wondered what had happened, if they'd done something wrong, or if there was some way to reverse it. He walked with her the next day in the godswood, while his sister and brothers walked beside Prince Aegon and Princess Visenya behind them. As his cane struck a root, he stopped. "Careful," she warned him, gripping his arm to make sure he did not fall.

"My thanks," he said back. He looked around the godswood. The sun peeked out behind the foliage of the trees and the birds chirped happily in the air. "The godswood have always seemed a wild thing to my eye." he remarked.

"I thought that was the whole point of a godswood," she replied.

That was true. He smiled a bit. "You should come to Highgarden sometime, Princess. There are gardens aplenty inside our walls and a labyrinth made out from briar plants. You could walk amongst our gardens."

It was a pretty picture he attempted to paint for her. She shrugged. "Not really sure if I like gardens, Willas."

He was caught flat-footed by that frank declaration. All his life he had heard people praise the beauty that was Highgarden. They took a step in its gardens and were completely entranced. Never heard had he heard someone say they didn't like a garden, especially a lady. "Why is that, your Highness?" he dared to ask.

"The whole idea of it is… false," she said. "If you want to find beauty in nature, you shouldn't have to corral it into a single place and force it to become what you want it to be. Beauty in nature is wild, untamable." She spread her hand out at their surroundings. "Like a godswood."

He supposed he could understand that view. He didn't _agree_ with it per se. A garden wasn't a place of imprisonment. It was a place where men and women could help shape and design the growth they wished to see. It was a piece of empty land a person could make beautiful with time and care, no different than a blacksmith forging a gorgeous blade out of a hunk of metal.

It said a lot about her, or perhaps this friendship, not quite courtship, they had struck that he flatly told her she was wrong and they kept talking. The second the words left his mouth he thought his name would be mentioned alongside Joffrey and Harold.

Soon though, more days passed, and met her other friends, Samwell Tarly and Eddison Tollet. He remembered Sam. The boy had been shy and a disappointment to his father. But now, after Robert Baratheon's invasion, he seemed more outspoken and perhaps a little more confident.

When he, Loras, and Margaery, were invited to sup with the king's children, Father had been ecstatic. He had proclaimed that the betrothal was at hand and urge his children to attend. The centerpiece of the dinner was a deer that the princess had killed herself. But the princess was nowhere to be found.

None of them, not even her siblings knew where she'd gone, or why she wasn't here. They waited, hoping she was just late, and when she did not arrive the guards were asked, and when they did not know, the Kingsguard, Ser Jamie, was sent for. He was her guard today. From there it was a search, because no one knew where Ser Jamie was either.

Willas however, found himself with a sneaking suspicion. Slipping quietly away, he made his way to the godswood. There she was, laying still under the pale bark, her direwolf curled around her legs, fingers running through its snow-white fur.

She opened her eyes and looked at him. "Hello Willas.

"Princess." He nodded, stepping forward. "You missed the dinner," he said.

She didn't answer. The Tyrell tilted his head, finally catching sight of Ser Jamie at the edge of the godswood, pacing it seemed. "So I did."

Willas pursed his lips in thought. "Would this have something to do with the 'guests' of that dinner? Specifically, my side of the dinner table."

She met his eyes without flinching. "Did you know…" she began. "When I was a girl, your family visited, Willas?"

Not specifically, if he were being honest, but the Tyrells had gone to the Red Keep many times throughout the years. So he nodded. She made a sound in her throat. "When they came, I met your sister, I wanted her to be my friend. I saw your brother, Loras too."

Willas had a feeling he knew where this was going. Now, it made sense. "They ignored you, didn't they?" he finished for her.

She nodded. "And now, here you are."

"Looking for your hand in marriage. With my siblings looking to help me gain your favor, calling you 'sister' and hoping to be fast friends." He was going to have to talk with his siblings about that, especially Margaery. She had been the one calling Joan sister the most.

She let her head fall back against the tree, eyes staring up into bloody leaves that turned the light of the moon rust red through the canopy. "I _hate_ this place, Willas. I hate how the people in it lie, squirm, and slither like snakes trying to crawl atop the cesspit. Your family— _you_ see me and my siblings as nothing more than a way to get a piece closer to the top of the board. You and everyone else. Tywin Lannister's grandson was ready to smile at my face as he spit poisoned words at my back. All the others would lock me in a cage as soon as the marriage vows were said."

"I'm sure that whoever you marry will not stop you from continuing your skills," he told the princess.

"Are you saying that you would permit it if I married you, Willas?" she asked him looking straight into his eyes. "Would that be your promise to get me to be the chess piece that gets you a child that would be an heir? My spear hand for a family that only looks at me out of convenience?"

He took a breath looking at her, and he saw then just how _tired_ she looked. The light of the godswood making her seem older in that moment. "I would," he finally said. "You could ride, and train with the bow, and the spear and the sword, I'd even let you teach our daughters if you wanted…but I won't…" She seemed surprised. "I won't because you do not truly want to marry me right now. You might never wish to marry me. You're looking for the least detestable option. And if you were to say yes to me, I would hope it's because I have a chance of making you happy, your Highness…"

Her smile was slow… _radiant_. It was not the quick quirk of her lips that were her smirks, or the sharp bark of laughter she would sometimes allow to slip past. This was the first time Wilas could say he saw the princess truly smile and she was the most beautiful woman in all the seven kingdoms in that second.

"No. I won't accept a marriage to you…not today," she finally said. Willas never thought he could feel quite so pleased at a failure. "Will you… still teach me to ride?" He couldn't help it. He laughed.

 **Elia**

(Location: Red Keep)

For a tournament that was being hosted in her honor, Queen Elia found that the Stark girl was doing a rather remarkable job of avoiding the whole thing. Most girls would've been excited to have this honor, yet Joan seemed to try at every attempt to be somewhere else. More than once now they'd had to hunt her down. As it turned out, Ser Jamie was typically the one who helped her escape, either because she corralled him or out of his own sense of humor.

One night of the tourney, at the banquet of the evening she had spied Joan talking with her siblings more than anyone else. And she had to wonder when exactly the change did occur. Certainly the war against the Baratheon had been the catalyst for it but the when still eluded her, was it before or after the fateful duel? Whenever it happened, the relationship between the four of them had changed. And she didn't entirely know how to feel about that.

At that moment, the hall was enraptured by one of the singers in the capital. His was an original piece, composed in honor of Joan's battle against Robert Baratheon. It was not a poor song, she could admit. Elia listened to the music and could almost see the battle being fought in front of her. The way the man sang held her attention, shaping the words so that they floated through the air almost.

 _And when it fell the raging stag, the dragonwolf howled its victory,_  
 _And the storm broke and scattered, subdued by the warrior made from ice and fire._

The song ended and the hall filled with applause, Elia amongst them. Truly, she enjoyed the song. The singer had even made a clever pun in it, calling Joan a Whitefyre. A bastard that would fight for the Targaryens, not against them.

The singer bowed to all as the applause continued. He was vibrant and in the prime of his life, eager for all the applause. But his eyes were focused on the high table, on the royal family, on them. Elia looked at where he was looking and saw that he was looking right at Joan. "Your Highness," he said as the applause finally quieted. "What do you think of my song?"

Joan looked at him. And the queen saw no hint of a smile. "A pretty song. Though you could probably find a better subject than dead men."

She was completely serious, but the hall chuckled as though it were a jape and the singer even smiled a bit more, bowing once at the waist. "I will compose something better next time my princess."

Elia breathed grateful at the fortune that Joan's ill grace and blunt nature had been misunderstood as a joke for now. Already she had offered insults to quite a few of the crown's closest allies. To spurn a bloody song of all things would have just been the topping on this disaster waiting to occur.

The hall quieted, with men and women returning to their cups, their food and private conversations, allowing sound to travel just a bit farther when she listened to her son. "Just a song sister." Aegon whispered, patting her on the knee.

"I killed one man and nearly died for it," she hissed back. "And he writes a bloody song that makes it seem like some pretty, glorious affair? I'm not Tywin Lannister. I don't need or want a Castamere song."

Elia drank from her goblet and glanced over at where the Lannisters were seated. Thankfully, they were too far away to hear the girl's comments

"So I suppose you playing a song yourself is out of the question?" Rhaenys smiled, a wicked, teasing thing.

" _She sings?"_ the queen thought, surprised.

Apparently, she wasn't the only one listening in, her husband turned his head beside her. "I did not know you played, Joan," he stated, calm, his voice soft for the distance it had to travel and the northern girl started to look decidedly uncomfortable.

Apparently, Rhaegar's voice was not quiet enough, because someone, a lady who'd had a little too much to drink seemed to have heard him. "The princess will play?"

The question was like a torch thrown onto dry, oiled kindling, and soon enough the whole room was asking, then stating, then cheering that the princess was going to play them a song, and Joan, for once, looked like a deer who just found itself in the path of a hunter.

Elia watched as the girl moved her eyes about the room, seemingly looking at how the situation had escalated so absurdly rapidly. Then she looked somewhere and seemed to calm a bit, Elia followed her eyes and found them looking to Eddard Stark. She wasn't sure if the northern lord was smiling or not, he was too far from them to tell, but Joan seemed to come to a decision under his gaze.

Standing up, she seemed to gather herself before turning, signaling a nearby servant and whispered in the girl's ear. As the servant went off, she walked around the table to the center of the hall. She stood there for a short while. The servant came back with a set of pipes, of all things in her hands. Joan took the stool the singer had occupied. Before she began she spoke. "This song is not for me. This is the song for those that died."

She began to play the pipes and the hall echoed with its song. This song, it was completely different from the one before. She had thought the pipes had been some kind of flute but it was more than that. The music didn't come out of it as much as it breathed with the girl. The song was a sad one, something that poured through each note. Elia listened and thought about all those men who went to war, only not to come back. It made her throat clutch up and tears form in her eyes.

The music played through the hall and where once there was revelry now there were somber faces. The men, specifically those noblemen she knew had gone to fight had their eyes closed in a quiet sort of solidarity. Her husband and children also had tears in their eyes, so did the Tyrells (even their queen dabbed at her eyes). Her brother was practically weeping at the sadness of the song. Lord Tywin's hard face seem to lessen somewhat and turn remorseful almost. The only one who did not show emotion was Lord Stark. Either because he was not at the battle, or because he'd heard the song before.

The song ended and silence reigned supreme in the hall. It was just beginning to become an awkward sort of silence before Lord Stark stood up with a goblet in hand and raised it in a toast. "To the honored dead," he declared simply. It was a toast that echoed up and down the hall. Joan rose from the seat and walked back to the high table. The sad look on her face struck Elia. In that moment, she looked the most like her father.

* * *

As the tourney came to an end, it was painfully clear to everyone that Joan had not chosen a suitor. When it came for the joust and Elia did not see her sitting in the royal box, she thought she had finally hidden from the Kingsguard. That is until she saw her helping Visenya mount her horse. "What is she doing down there?" she asked immediately.

Aegon looked at her. He wasn't in the joust because he had already joined the melee and won. "Visenya asked her to squire for her," he told her. He sounded as if it was no great problem.

Rhaenys nodded. "She did it to keep her away from the royal box."

"Why?" asked Rhaegar.

She glanced over at where the Lannisters were sitting. "Joan…might've insulted Cersei Lannister earlier."

Had she? Elia turned her eyes towards the Lannisters. None of them looked angry. In fact, they were watching the joust. "What happened?" she asked her son.

"I wouldn't know, Mother. I wasn't there." A jesting smile came to his lips. "It would've looked too odd."

"Odd?"

"We had a small sewing circle, Mother," Rhaenys explained. "Joan was there, except she was fixing a shirt. Cersei made a few derogatory remarks but she ignored them. No one thought of it until Cersei boasted how she was the only true child of Lord Tywin and lamented the fact she couldn't wield a sword. Joan told her that she couldn't wield a sword because she was too stupid to handle even a knife." She stopped, even though it sounded like there was more.

Elia looked at her eldest daughter. "Was there anything else, Rhaenys?"

"Joan made a few…choice comments about Cersei's skills as a mother and the amount of her intelligence, to say the least. By the time she left, Lady Lannister was spitting mad." Even though she was hesitant to speak about it, she did sound far too amused for it to remain hidden..

The horns blared and the joust went under way. Elia knew that her youngest daughter was skilled with a jousting lance. She had to be to come this far. But she still watched with nervous trepidation. Every time Visenya smashed her lance into the opposing shield and rode victorious, she breathed a little easier

And every time her daughter rode to her end, Elia watched Joan. She watched her wait for her sister to come back, watched her that quiet smile, and watched her talk to her sister when they had a moment. The hostility that girl held when she came back to King's Landing had seemingly vanished, ebbing away. Elia could have marked it to her staying away from her and her siblings but she was no fool. It was more than that, something she had no part in.

The final joust of the tournament saw her daughter Visenya pitted against none other than Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain That Rides.

Sheer brute force had brought the man this far. Elia could see no form or technique to him, just raw strength that shattered the lances against the black iron plate of his chest and literally shoved grown men off their horses with his own. She wondered how on earth his horse was even carrying him. Between his size and the weight of his armor he must have weighed well over three hundred pounds. Worry clenched her heart as she looked back at Visenya. Her daughter looked like a babe in comparison. The trumpets sounded and the two charged down the list.

The lances shattered against each other and Elia felt herself cringe at the sound, seeing her daughter's body rock back on the horse while Ser Gregor seemed to shrug off the blow like he hadn't even felt it. The two came around for another pass and again the lances shattered.

They would break two more lances before it was over. Elia could see her daughter sagging in the saddle, her body just too small, too _weak_ to go blow for blow against the beast that was Ser Gregor Clegane. Visenya and Joan seemed to talk for a moment. Joan's face was the only one she could see, with Visenya's hidden by her helmet, she was not smiling.

When she marched to the herald, Elia knew it was over. "Unable to continue," the man shouted out to the crowds. "The princess Visenya Targaryen declares the winner to be Ser Gregor Clegane!"

The crowd cheered Gregor lifted his lance into the air with a shout of triumph. All eyes were on him as Elia watched Joan help her daughter dismount. Visenya was cradling her side. A spike of worry shot through her, her eyes following the two girls as they slipped away from the tourney grounds. Soon enough, Rhaegar was calling the winners of the competitions before him, along with Joan. Ser Gregor for the joust, A Frey boy for the archery contest, and Aegon for the melee.

"As the final victors of your respective competitions, the crown gifts Lord Edmure Frey and Ser Gregor Clegane with the prize of one thousand gold dragons each." Ser Gregor and Edmure Frey bowed at the waist with thanks as Rhaegar turned to Aegon. "My son. What would you ask of the crown? Is there any favor you would wish?"

"None right now father." Aegon smiled. "I just wanted to test my skills against the finest in the land."

Rhaegar nodded once sharply before finally turning to Joan. "My daughter," he said, and Elia could almost see the girl stiffen. There was no pride in the stance, more like a child bracing itself for a blow of some sort. She did not know if Rhaegar noticed. "You slew Robert Baratheon at the gates of Storm's End, rescued your sister, and likely saved my life as well. There are few rewards that can match the deed."

The crowds seemed to quiet, listening for what must be a great reward indeed, allowing Rhaegar's voice to seem stronger in the quiet. "Long has our house held with our lords what is commonly called the Crownlands, as the years have taken their toll and rewarded us in equal measure, we have lost and flourished with these lands, with lords and lines changing hands and titles.

"The hold of Crackclaw Point has long been a land without a lord of its own, and I can think of nothing more fitting than you to take and guard our northernmost seat, with the full backing of the crown to raise your new home and holding to its highest possible standard."

Elia was stunned, just like the rest of the people at the tourney. But none were as stunned as Joan. She had been expecting to receive a husband. Instead, she got land.

 **Varys**

(Location: Red Keep)

It was clear that Princess Joan was much changed from the shy, timid, girl she had been in her childhood. The more the Master of Whispers watched her, the more he saw her grow into a woman that held herself with an assured confidence, or at least defiance. Gone were the days of her looking at her siblings with either forlorn sadness or hate.

Though to be certain, sexual intercourse did come with a certain fondness, typically the change was only natural when observed through that lens. It was no secret to him, of course that Elia's children slept with their sister. His little birds danced and chirped in his ear about the Targaryen siblings and always did they say such curious things though especially the lone Stark of them. How far she would go for siblings she once despised.

She was alone now; he knew before he even arrived, standing by the balcony as the dragons, each now approximately the size of a small pony, seemed to dance in the sky, darting into the waters of the bay to snatch fish that they cooked and ate on the rocky shoals.

"Magnificent, aren't they?" he remarked, watching as she startled, jumping in her skin before she realized it was him.

"Lord Varys." She said, a note of caution in her voice. Then she looked to the dragons again, shrugging. "I suppose."

"As a Targaryen, I expect you are far more accustomed to them than most." Indeed, his little birds had been all a flutter about the egg incident as he called it, shocked and dismayed that anyone would reject the chance to have one of the legendary creatures for themselves.

She looked at him. "I got used to a battle-scarred mammoth before I met those dragons." She spoke with such seriousness, she couldn't have been japing. "Small dragons, while cute, weren't that intimidating."

He took that information and thought about what she said. The only real wilding she truly spoke about amongst others was her teacher, this so-called Old Mother. "Your teacher was a warg then?" he asked.

She looked at him anew. "Close," she said. "That's what we call someone who's bonded with a wolf. Everyone else is just called a skinchanger." She watched the dragons fly higher and higher in the air, twisting and twirling. "I told her about Old Valyria, about the dragonlords and how they tamed the dragons with horns, whips, and sorcery. She scoffed and called the lot of them 'fucking amateurs.'"

Varys had heard many things said about Old Valyria and the dragonlords. But what he had just heard was a new one. He actually had to consider what he heard. "You will have to pardon me, your Highness, but I don't think I've heard anyone say that about your ancestors."

"She surprised me too when she said that. But then she proceeded to explain why to me. The Valyrians called it sorcery but she called it skinchanging. She also said that if they had to use horns and whips, they were very poor skinchangers."

Varys tittered beside her. "Forgive me, your Highness, but, poor skinchangers or not, amateurs or not, the Valyrians had many more things to their names, including cities, roads, infrastructure, a world spanning empire, the ability to make the finest of blades and impenetrable armors. Indeed, were it not for the mysterious 'Doom' we might all be speaking Valyrian. One wildling woman's opinion of them should not blind you to the reality of the legacy you are a part of."

Joan's lips pursed, looking chagrined, clearly, she held this woman in very high regard. But she was a smart girl, all she needed was…guidance. "Maybe," she grudgingly conceded. She leaned on the railing of the balcony, watching the beasts a little more closely. "Sometimes," she began, "I think that no one else tried to tame a dragon because the Valyrians said only they could and it was believed."

"If that is true, why have you not tried to have a dragon for yourself? Or even tame these three here?" Knowledge of the event or not, he could not say his curiosity for her thoughts was not piqued. Was it spite? Or some other motivation that had been behind her choice.

Her frown towards him was severe. "Even the Free Folk have laws, Lord Varys, unwritten or otherwise. You don't steal another's creature so long as they are alive. Egg, Rhae, and 'Senya might not realize it but they are skinchangers and the dragons are theirs."

"Perhaps you should write all these lessons down and give them to the maesters," he suggested softly. He was no firm believer in tales of skin changing, sorcery and magic, but dragons were walking the earth again, and these Targaryen children had sole control over them. They would not listen to Rhaegar, or Daenerys. Just them. It was not a hereditary obedience. So some of what she said must have had some small kernel of truth to it.

She turned from the window fully, looking at him. Her eyes were slightly narrowed. "What do you want, Varys?" she asked him.

"Must I want something?" he asked, smiling just a bit, watching as her irritation was worn so clearly on her face. "Can I not simply search for conversation?"

"You're the Master of Whispers," she flatly replied. "You always want something out of your 'conversations.'"

He smiled at her. "In this instance your Highness, I merely wished to see and speak with the Lady of Crackclaw Point before she leaves the capital once again. It is so rare for us to speak. You do not stay in the Red Keep long enough to be spoken to most days." She was frowning and looked more like a Stark for it. "It has been a regret of mine my dear that I have not endeavored to know you better."

"So regretful now that there's a title and a land hold under my name," she accused.

"As you said, Princess, I am the Master of Whispers. Your land or titles do not interest me. Furthermore a marriage to me would be…rather boring." He looked down to emphasize the point. She rolled her eyes, but he saw her crack the ever so faintest of smiles at the joke. He smiled back, deciding to take the small opening to give up his little game. "A few days ago, Prince Aegon made a suggestion to the Small Council. A new position, one for a headman of King's Landing."

She nodded. "I heard about that. It sounds like a good idea."

"I imagined you would think so Princess, especially since it was after all your idea."

She didn't blink. "Perhaps Rhae or 'Senya suggested it to him."

Varys' smile was knowing. "Your Highness, please. We both know that of all the king's children, you are the one who have spent the most time amongst the smallfolk. You have met with the headmen of villages in the north where the tradition is a strong one. You would know how to deal with them the most. You're the one who suggested it to Prince Aegon. I am not curious as to the why of the suggestion itself but rather the 'hiding' of said idea." He folded his arms inside his sleeves.

She frowned, again, looking for all the world like she was looking at an animal that had dragged in a great deal of mud to a previously pristine floor. "Do you disagree?"

"That was not my question," he clarified. "But to put you at ease Princess, I do not. I approve of it."

"People will listen to Aegon," she answered.

"But not you."

"They might, now anyway. But he is the prince. It's just faster that way."

"I see. And tell me, how would you go about selecting such a person for this hypothetical role? Kings Landing is a large city, a million inhabitants. How on earth would you select _one_ man to represent their interests?"

The princess did not take long to think about it. "I'd say we let them pick between themselves."

"You would let smallfolk have that power?"

"What power?" she scoffed. "The headman is there to speak to what the people of the city want. The King will always have the final say. Granting them a voice to speak and be heard is hardly handing them the bloody Kingdom." For a long, long time, Varys looked at her, long enough for her to look decidedly uncomfortable under his scrutiny. "What?"

"Forgive me princess." Varys smile returned. "Our conversation has given me much to think of. If we do not see each other again before you leave to your new holding in Crackclaw Point, I would be most pleased to correspond by raven, if it please you."

"I…suppose?" She looked as bemused as she sounded.

Varys laughed as he bowed. "Good day, your Highness." With a sharp about face, a spring in his step and humming a little tune Varys marched off like a cat that ate the little bird.

 **Rhaenys**

(Location: Crackclaw Point)

The procession that followed her marched through the village first, a quaint thing, the houses could not have numbered even in the hundreds, she could spy a sept on the hill, a mill on the other side and not much else. The two dozen Targaryen guards that followed after her could have probably filled out the male population of the entire place.

The holdfast, just beyond the village and almost nestled into the forest, had a robust defense. It had not been in use for some time, with the last reports of the point being a castle well into disrepair with no lord to manage it. Not for the first time did Rhaenys wonder at her father's choice of "reward" for her sister.

And perhaps Joan saw it the same way. She'd heard quite a few rumors in King's landing, none of them good. Something about her sister being a poor leader, misusing the funds given to her. When she'd heard some noblewoman of the court talking about "Targaryen Madness" it had been all she could do to stop herself from cutting her down with insults and words.

That, more than anything else had been what prompted her visit here. For too long none in the family had 'worried' for Joan. Certainly Visenya cared for her, and Aegon held her in high regard as well, but Joan had marched in front of Robert Baratheon for Rhaenys. Distant letters could not begin to repay that. She had to see for herself. Make sure she was alright.

As they came close to the holdfast she heard a guardsman announce them, blowing on a horn to call the gates to open. The holdfast courtyard was cramped. Even if it weren't filled with scaffolding for repairs to the walls and the keep, the architecture was built purely as a defensive fortification not a luxurious one. The tight spaces would make it harder for an attacking force to surround the defenders unless they climbed the walls. Barely two horses could march astride the, and Ser Lewyn, her Kingsguard hard to stand with his horse behind hers, rather than beside her.

She panned her eyes across the place, dozens of servants bowed where they could, even from the windows above her. When she looked up to a wooden walkway that circled the second story of the holdfast itself, she finally spotted her sister. Joan smiled, one of those barely-there things, and it made Rhaenys smile in turn. In the North, she thought that the happiness Joan had would never been given to the paternal side of her family, only the Starks. She had been more than content to ignore her siblings.

"We didn't know you were coming." Joan called, leaning on the railing.

"Surprise." Rhaenys answered, somewhat guiltily. Truth was, she hadn't sent word. If things were as bad as the rumors suggested, she wanted to see for herself. Help in some way before word reached their father.

Ser Barristan stepped up besides Joan, spotting them and bowing once at the waist. "Your Grace."

"Ser Barristan." She said in greeting.

"You're lucky. If you would have shown up earlier I wouldn't have even been here," said Joan.

"Hunting?" Rhaenys asked.

"Actually no, I had to help settle an argument between two clans that didn't end in bloodshed." She was unapologetic as she said, "I had to knock some sense into them."

"With what?" asked her sister, with a snicker "Your hand?"

"No, my spear," she answered without shame.

Rhaenys blanched, then groaned. Of course Joan would resolve it that way. "Joan, that's not how you conduct negotiations." That was the last thing one did when conducting negotiations!

Her sister shrugged. "Whatever works," she said before she turned back and walked inside. "Come on in."

She didn't know what she should've expected. Maybe it was because she had grown in the Red Keep and Sunspear, twin laps of comfortable luxury, but she expected the inside of this small holdfast to be lacking. It wasn't. Not really. It was smaller than she was used to, true, the Great hall could only fit three long tables, one of them the table of the ruling lord and his or her family, rather than Winterfell's sixteen or the Red Keep's twelve. There were two hearths. It did however, have a northern feel to it. Few decorations, heavy furs on the seats and floor. The Tables were made of strong sturdy wood, with few carvings. Minimum by southern standards but for a keep in repair, more than adequate.

Joan offered her a hug as they finally came close, and Rhaenys was content to watch her manage her household for the rest of the day. Oddly enough, the one she seemed to be taking the most council from was Barristan. She hadn't realized she and the silver sword were close. Maybe it was their time here that had done that.

Well into the afternoon, she found an opportunity to ask her about it. Joan marched to the back of the keep, through a door that led to a little hole in the wall that Rhaenys could only assume on finding it was some kind of workshop. There was a rack with fur lying upon it. And as if she was a common worker herself, Joan sat herself down, rolled up her sleeves and started to work, cutting what parts of the fur couldn't be used or kept Rhaenys took that moment to watch her. She was staring intently at the fur, her fingers working hard. It was a strange look, but she seemed happy at the work

"So, what is it you want, Rhae?" she asked, her eyes still focused on the fur.

"Since when have you listened to Ser Barristan?"

"Since he basically knocked some sense into me."

Rhaenys looked more than a little shocked. "He struck you?"

"No. He'd probably sooner cut off his own hand. But…" Her hands worked, features scrunching up in thought. "When I got here… I kind of panicked." That must have been a painful admission to Joan. "I never wanted a castle, never thought I'd have it. Hundreds of people relying on _me_ to tell them what to do, how to do it, solving problems. It was like…I'd been thrown into a frozen river and even if I got to the surface I'd never be able to breathe because of the cold, ya know?"

Rhaenys didn't. She'd never even seen a 'frozen river' before. But she nodded regardless. "So I told them to build me a cottage." Joan chuckled. "All that lumber, money…my first order was to spend it all building me a house away from this place."

Rhaenys tried not to cringe. That…well…she could see where the rumors had sprung up.

"Barristan held his tongue about it but after a while I could tell he had something to say," Joan said. "So I asked him. 'Ordered' him to speak his mind really when he tried to say it wasn't his place."

"What did he say?"

"That I was being a spoiled brat. And neither of my parents would approve. Neither would my uncle."

Rhaenys blinked. "I…Barristan?"

"Didn't think he had it in him either." Joan chuckled, somewhere low in her throat.

"That's when you abandoned the cottage thing?"

"Made me feel bad too since it was done. Maybe one day I'll have the lumber re-purposed," she mused. Then, finally, turned back to her. "Alright, come on I've told my story. So now you, talk. You came here for something more than my pretty face."

She wasn't wrong per-se. Rhaenys looked at her sister and said, "I came to bring you back to King's Landing. There's a painter who wants to paint you."

"A painter?" Joan raised a slender eyebrow.

"A Braavosi," she explained. "Showed up in the city. He has a new style, something that really draws the eye. Father was impressed with his work, So he commissioned him to paint a picture of his children, for one each. He's painted one for Aegon, Visenya, and myself easily. You're the only one left."

"You can't be serious," Joan laughed. "I have things to do here."

"It's hardly the trip from Winterfell, sister. It's a three-day ride to King's landing, about a week for the painting to be done, and three days back. You'll be back before a moon's turn. The point has lived without a lord for years, two more weeks won't see it burst into flame."

She still didn't look convinced. Rhaenys told her, "Come on, I'll even bring you back on Moonfyre." It'll cut the time down to just a few hours on the return journey. Their dragons had just passed the size of horses now. Large enough to ride, at least with them not wearing armor. With Joan as a second rider, it might be trying but her dragon could do it.

Joan sighed stopping her work and took the fur off the rack. "It'll have to be in a day or two. Get things in order. I have to open the doors to the villagers in a few hours too."

"You're holding court?"

"Sort of." She shrugged. "I'm the lady. I have to listen to them. It was the first thing I really did since I got here." Rhaenys was a little impressed. If she was being perfectly honest, she had thought her little sister was running around hunting things in the woods. She and Visenya were learning alongside Aegon how to rule Westeros. She was reading all the books she could so she would be able to advise her brother with wisdom past.

But while they were learning, Joan was ruling, at least this stretch of land given to her. A part of her did feel a little jealous but she refused to let it grow. The time for feeling jealous about her sister had long since passed. Before she realized what was happening, Joan had her by the arm and pulling her out of the workshop. "Come on," she said, pulling her towards a shed besides the stables. She pulled open the door, revealing more furs.

Rhaenys' arms were soon laden with furs. She looked past them at Joan. "What am I doing with these?"

"You're helping me take them to the great hall, so I can barter with the villagers."

"What?!" She didn't come for that! But her sister would not accept no for an answer. So she found herself loading furs onto a rack inside the great hall, alongside the left hearth.

Call her spoiled, but as soon as her sister came back with more furs, the Princess decided her status was good enough to call for some help, redirecting a servant or two to help their liege with her little project. Better them than her.

When the task was nearly done and Joan was tying the last few hides to their place, Rhaenys noticed something. "Where's your wolf?"

"Oh, Ghost is around," Joan said dismissively, more focused on securing the furs.

She looked at her hard. "You don't care about where your wolf is?" She always knew where Moonfyre was. If she didn't, that dragon would go and cause a mess.

Joan didn't look back at her. "I know where he is, just like I know that he's hunting. He'll come back home to us when he's done." She breathed in deep and sounded pleased. "Smell that air, Rhae. That's a good hide.

She did smell it and frowned. Joan must have noticed, tossing her another smile. "Smells better than the city," she replied.

Rhaenys couldn't argue with that. "Is that why you stay away?"

"More than that but it's definitely a big part. Why hasn't anyone done something about it? Build a sewer underneath the city."

"And who would lead such a project?" There wasn't a great deal of rewards in building a sewage system.

But her sister had an answer. "Have Lord Tyrion lead it. He mentioned something to me that he knew how plumbing worked, maybe he could help. Just be sure to say that it was your idea or Egg's."

That was odd. "Why shouldn't I say it was yours?"

She laughed a bitter laugh, something unexpected. "We want the plan to go through, don't we?"

" _What does she mean by that?"_ She asked her but Joan refused to answer. Soon enough, Ghost arrived and the villagers that had come were shortly behind him. The wolf lived up to his name. He was so silent that she didn't hear him until he was by their side. The castle servants must have long been used to him by now if he didn't so much as cause a maid to squeak in surprise.

The smallfolk came and Rhaenys watched her sister interact with them. It was interesting. Or perhaps it was because she had never really talked to smallfolk before. All the people she had talked to were highborn or at the very least worked where their highborn lived. She had always walked past the smallfolk, not paying much attention to them.

But Joan did pay attention to them. She sat at a low seat and would patiently listen to each one. Ser Barristan was not far from her, but the silver sword was relaxed, his stance at ease right now. To a select few she would offer some of the furs for free, inviting others to purchase them for well below their market price. There she sat at the table like a lady presiding over a court.

And soon the affair was done and the great hall filled with some of her guards, some servants and a handful of villagers, with some of them bringing barrels of ale and drink before Joan played host to her surprise royal visitors for the night.

"I'm impressed, Joan," Rhaenys told her.

She chuckled. She seemed more alive now than she had before. "I had practice with the northern mountain clans. You would not believe the trouble I caused by making a mistake."

Her sister saw how some of the younger men were looking hopefully at Joan. A seed of discomfort and irritation formed in her belly. She did not let it grow. It was not worthy of a princess. Instead she remarked, "You seem to have some attention."

Joan looked at her puzzled. Then she followed her gaze and saw the boys. "Oh, don't worry about that," she said dismissively. "I politely refused them."

Rhaenys was surprised that she knew how to refuse politely. It had been a year and the tourney at King's Landing was becoming infamous for her refusal of betrothals. "Lady Joan!" shouted one of the men. It was an older man and he was surrounded by people holding musical instruments. "Come, join us for a song."

She grinned. "Alright," she said before looking at her sister. "You're in for a treat, Rhae." She left her sister there, joining the musicians.

Rhaenys watched and waited. There was a song coming, she gathered that much. But she didn't think that so many people were needed to be bards. They all settled into positions and she saw her sister holding a fiddle (what she called her instrument when Aegon had asked).

Everyone quieted and the music began. It flowed over Rhaenys, surprising her. It was music like she had barely heard before. When the man started singing, he didn't sing in the Common Tongue but in an older tongue. But it didn't matter she couldn't understand the words. When he sang, the rest of the villagers and even a few of the servants sang with him.

 _D'aon ghuth amháin, (Of one voice,)_  
 _Tá sí linn, (She is with us,)_  
 _Tá sí slán. (She is safe.)_  
 _D'aon ghuth amháin, (Of one voice,)_  
 _Canfaimis fós, (Let us still sing,)_  
 _Rachfaidh muid ann. (We will go there.)_

 _Tóg amach do pheann a mhac, (Take out your pen lad,)_  
 _Is scríobh isteach do scéal. (And write down your story.)_  
 _An rud atá le rá agat, (The thing you have to say,)_  
 _Ní fiú antost, (Is not worth the silence,)_  
 _Is fiú an scéal. (It's worth the story.)_

 _An té a bhíonns in aonaracht, (He who is in solitude,)_  
 _Ní chloisfear uaidh go deo. (He will never be heard from.)_  
 _Ach glór atá i measc na mílte, (But a voice amongst the thousands,)_  
 _Cruthaíonn siad, (They create,)_  
 _Éiríonn leo. (They succeed.)_

 _Aontas na nglóracha, (Unity of voice,)_  
 _Ná aontas na meabharacha. (Is unity of mind.)_  
 _'Sé 'lámh a chur i lámh' (It's the putting hands in hand,)_  
 _Is na dushláin nu' a sharú. (And overcoming new challenges.)_

 _Má theipeann ort, (If you fail,)_  
 _Níl deireadh leat, (You are not finished,)_  
 _Níl críoch leis an scéal. (The story is not over.)_  
 _So éirigh leat is seas arís, (So rise and stand again,)_  
 _Mar chuid den mhuintir, (As part of the family,)_  
 _Chuid den ré. (Part of the era.)_

 _Piléir ag titim, (Pillars falling,)_  
 _Tóg. (Build.)_  
 _An lá seo, ní fheicfidh tú arís, (This day, you will not see again,)_  
 _Seo an fód. (This is the ground.)_

 _D'aon ghuth amháin, (Of one voice,)_  
 _Tá sí linn, (She is with us,)_  
 _Tá sí slán. (She is safe.)_  
 _D'aon ghuth amháin, (Of one voice,)_  
 _Canfaimis fós, (Let us still sing,)_  
 _Rachfaidh muid ann. (We will go there)_

 _D'aon ghuth amháin, (Of one voice,)_  
 _Tá sí linn, (She is with us,)_  
 _Tá sí slán. (She is safe.)_  
 _D'aon ghuth amháin, (Of one voice,)_  
 _Canfaimis fós, (Let us still sing,)_  
 _Rachfaidh muid ann. (We will go there.)_

As the song died, the people in the hall pounded their approval. To her great surprise, Rhaenys did the same. The musicians bowed and Joan left them. They spent a good amount of time there in the feast that was not quite a feast with so little time to prepare, singing along with the songs and enjoying themselves.

It was night when they left. The holdfast was dark but Joan moved through the quiet hallways like she knew every one of them. Rhaenys felt like the dark was encroaching all around them. It was a little unnerving. She held onto her little sister. She was glad Aegon and Visenya didn't see her do that. They would mock her endlessly for it.

They reached her room. No, not her room, she realized as soon as the door opened, seeing Joan's bow by the wall. Joan's room. Once inside, Joan looked back at her. "The bed's big enough to fit us both, but it's going to be a little tight," she said, looking embarrassed at that.

" _After all I've seen her do today, she's embarrassed about the size of her bed?"_ It could've been funny, except she actually meant it. "It's fine, Joan," she assured her. "We'll be fine."

She looked relieved and quickly stripped out of her clothes, pulling her hair free of its tail. Rhaenys did the same and joined her in the bed. But even as the lights were blown out, she stared through the darkness at the scars. The first one she looked at was the one made by a dog's teeth. There were so many little scars so close together. They were red against her skin. Rhaenys couldn't imagine the pain she went through as the dog tried to rip her apart.

That wasn't the only scar on her body. There were others, like the scar beneath her right breast or the one on her elbow. The dog scar was the only one she knew the story about. It suddenly hit her that she didn't really know Joan all that well, even if they were on better terms now. She understood why she preferred to live out here instead of in the Red Keep. But she didn't know why she would refuse to take credit for an idea, why she would fight stubbornly for a painting.

"Joan, why?" she asked in the darkness, looking at her back.

"What why?" Joan asked back.

"Why do you not to be credited for an idea? Is it because you're a woman?"

There was silence from her for a long moment. Rhaenys wasn't sure if she would answer. "It's not that. It's just that no one would believe it if it came from me."

"What?"

"I'm the bastard, Rhae. People look at me and see that first. In their eyes, I have no place in what comes next."

Anger burned through her at that idea. "What comes next?" she repeated. What did she mean by that?

"When Aegon takes the Iron Throne. He'll rule with you and 'Senya at his side. You'll be there to offer him wisdom and guidance from books and maesters. 'Senya will tell him what the soldiers think and feel, while also pleasing the crowds at tourneys, earning their love. You will both give him good advice and help him make decisions that will better the Seven Kingdoms."

But she wasn't there in that picture. Where was she? "What about you? You don't think that you'll be a part of it?"

Joan shrugged. "Who can say? Ten years from now, twenty years from now. Who knows where I'll be. I hardly saw myself ruling Crackclaw Point just a year ago."

"But you don't see yourself with us." That hurt her. Joan shrugged like it wasn't a big concern. But it was. Rhaenys sat up a bit on the bed, looking down at her sister. "You belong with us, alongside us. And you're not going anywhere else."

Joan looked up at her, Stark grey eyes finding hers in the dark and Rhaenys saw, again, that barely-there smile touch her lips, a glimmer in that gaze of hers where Rhaenys saw something…love. Joan heard her and loved her for her. Once Rhaenys saw the love, she saw how open she was. Desire suddenly roared through her. She wanted to fall down upon her, claim her, take her until they were both spent.

" _No,"_ she forced herself to think. _"Don't do that, Rhaenys. It's Joan."_ This was different from Aegon or Visenya. If she did this and it turned out to be the wrong thing, it could force Joan away from them, farther than what happened before. Even as much as she wanted her, she wouldn't do that.

But then Joan looked her in the eye and said, "I know what you want, Rhae." She reached up and cradled her face in her hand. Rhaenys leaned into that hand. It felt so warm and gentle. "It's alright. I don't mind." With those words, Rhaenys descended upon her sister with a kiss. She kissed back.

 **Tyrion**

(Location: King's Landing)

" _I made a single remark to a princess once and this is where I end up."_ The thought was a sardonic one. Tyrion was almost certain his father was enjoying this back at the Rock. He had gone from cleaning out one sewage system to redesigning another.

He had been surprised to receive a summons to King's Landing. For a moment, he'd dared to hope that he was being called for some sort of honor, perhaps, dare he say it, a position like Master of Coin had opened up. Then of course he arrived and the king had told him of his plan to rid the stink from the city. His name had been put forth to lead the project. Tyrion could _guess_ who it was. He could also _guess_ that it wasn't a good idea to say no.

Still, he had been given a job and if there was one thing he had learned from his father, it was to never leave a job unfinished. Tywin Lannister did nothing by halves and refused to allow his children to do so either. He spent months in King's Landing, mapping out what passed for sewers in the castle and city, designing a sewage system that would flow all the shit out to the sea.

Construction had begun. There were crews out in the city tearing up the streets lay in the pipes. People had thought it to be a jape and him too. To prove that he was serious, he had gone to one of the crews and helped them tear through the street. It had only been a day but he was left with more pain than he thought he could have. But he probably surprised the crew more by his stubborn refusal to quit that day.

From that day on, he would go one of the crews working and do the day's work in sight of them. He saw them and they saw him. It showed both how serious they were. It was why he was in a tavern in the Street of Steel. The tavern door opened and he didn't pay attention to it. "Hello, Lord Tyrion," Princess Joan spoke.

He looked up from the map of the city and looked at the princess coming towards him. "Hello, your Highness. Have you come back to the city?" she looked like she had just ridden through the gate. He glanced past her to see if her wolf was with her. She did, the beast was by the door, which suddenly had a lot less traffic.

"Yes. Father wants me back in the Red Keep for something." She sounded exasperated as she spoke.

He had a feeling about why she was here. "Is the Braavosi still trying to paint you?" Watching him trying to paint something she would approve and her refusing each time was amusing almost by itself.

"Yes. But I saw the work outside and wondered if you were nearby. May I sit?"

She was going to anyway. He might as well allow her. "Go ahead." She sat down like she was ready to enjoy her time there.

She looked down at the map. "How goes the construction?"

"Slowly," he replied. "The people seem to have a hard time believing what we're doing is good for them. Some of them are convinced that by doing this, we'll be opening into one of the seven hells."

"Considering the city, I find it not too hard to believe."

He chuckled to the jape. "Even so, the process is slow."

"Is there any way to hurry it along?"

"If you would like shoddy work and for the city to go back to the way it was, then yes." His retort was sharp. She did not look shocked at being talked like that. She sat there, waiting for the next part.

She looked back at the map again. "Just how many people are in King's Landing?" she asked.

"I don't have the exact number," he said absently. He was more concerned about checking the reports he was reading through. There was a maester with each crew and they were sending him reports daily. It was something he had demanded. "But it's probably a great deal."

"Can the city hold them all?"

"Someone should say that it doesn't but it seems to do so." He guessed a romantic would say that it was a symbol of how stubborn and resilient the people of King's Landing were. He just thought it made the smell worse.

He glanced at her. She was looking at the map rather intently. He waited. She was going to say something. "Do you think there's something that could be done?"

"No, I don't."

"You're just saying that because you don't want more work."

He scowled at her. She was not wrong. He decided to be difficult, wanting to see how she would react. "See what?"

She pointed at the south of the city, at the rush. "There's land there. Just expand the city there."

He looked at the map. She was looking past the fish market, across the rush. "How can you?" he asked her. "The kingsroad is already there, same as the harbor."

"Move the harbor and build around the road."

"Move the harbor where?" The harbor had been there since the city had been first built. If it was moved, people would complain, especially if it was placed badly.

"Further north, near the Rosby road, and to the south where the expansion would take place," she answered. "You would just build the city around the kingsroad, making it the main street. If the city was expanded, it would ease the strain on the city as it is."

Tyrion looked at the map. He imagined what she described, the city stretching across the rush. It would grow along the kingsroad, using it as a main street like she suggested. There would be more room for buildings. Better yet, the entirety of Flea Bottom could be transported over there and they could rebuild that into something better. But he saw a problem, or at least someone might consider a problem. "How would we defend it?" he asked her. "There would be no walls."

"The walls could be built or just readjusted." She looked irritated that she had to say such a thing. "Come on, Lord Tyrion. You had to have seen that."

He nodded and smile. "I did. I just wanted to see if you did the same thing." He looked her fully in the eyes. "Princess, why do you want to expand the city?" All sort of talk he had heard about it was to fix the city, not make it bigger. This was the first time he had heard this. It was different.

"It's a change, one that's needed. Sometimes, big changes are what are needed."

"Do you plan to introduce this idea to the Small Council?"

To his great surprise, she said, "No."

It was simple, like she was cutting something precisely. "Why?" he asked. She wasn't the kind of person who wouldn't be hesitant about sharing what she thought.

"The Small Council would never take it seriously if it came from me." She looked at him meaningfully. "If it came from you, however…?"

She wanted him to take her idea as his own? "And why would they listen to me about this kind of idea?" he asked her. She had a brain in there. He wanted to see how much of one now.

"You're the one who's fixing the sewers. If there's anyone who knows that the city should be expanded, it would be you."

"Princess, if I didn't know any better, I would say that you're seducing me."

She made a face at him. "Lord Tyrion, you're like an uncle to me."

"Hopefully the pretty one," he remarked, "and considering your family, my statement still stands." It was bold to say something like this to the royal family but Joan knew him and he knew her.

She kept scowling but there was no heat to them. "You know I'm right." The scowl softened into a frown. "Are you going to leave this alone?"

He thought about it for a moment, looking at the map. He imagined the city as she talked about. It would have more room and have more opportunity for trade and growth. Perhaps the new sewers he was constructing would be made over there. He looked at her. He saw the hope in her eyes. She was a girl who wanted approval for something that she came up with.

He felt like his father looking at himself. This would be where Lord Tywin Lannister would refuse him. Thank goodness he wasn't his father. "I will take it to them,"

She smiled and it made her look younger than she was. "Thank you," she said.

 **Arthur**

(Location: Red Keep)

The king had persuaded Princess Joan to come to the Red Keep, this time for a feast. Arthur wasn't sure how he managed to do that when he didn't go talk to her in the Point personally. The prince or princesses usually went instead. But here she was here all the same. He had been the one guarding Maegor's holdfast when she came riding in. She saw him and greeted him warmly.

He stood guard behind the high table during the feast. Joan sat next to Visenya. The way they talk and laughed with each other, one never would've thought that they used to despise each other. It was no secret amongst the royal family and the Kingsguard that the king's children were sleeping with Joan. But out of all them, He believed Visenya loved her sister the most.

"I heard you both sparred again this morning," Aegon said to them picking at his food.

Visenya nodded her head. "We were. I tried getting Rhae out to spar but she was too busy reading." She made it sound like it was the most unpleasant thing someone could do.

Rhaenys heard her tone and looked down the table at her. "You should try reading a little more, Visenya. It would do wonders for you," she said, teasing her little sister with her sarcasm.

"Who won?" The question, surprisingly, came from Queen Elia. And though her children tried to hide it, the sudden tension was there.

He felt it too if he were being honest. It was no secret that the queen did not want Joan here. It was only for the sake of her children that she acted with politeness. But with each thing she said, there always seemed to be an undercurrent directed to snub Princess Joan. "It didn't get that far," Visenya told her. "We were interrupted."

"Lord Stannis's son came running into the yard, wanting to fight us both," Joan explained. She sounded both exasperated and amused. "He broke the fight before we could even work up a decent sweat."

"Perhaps you should've thought of that before the both of you agreed to watch him for Lord Baratheon the last time he was here," Prince Aegon told them with a cheeky grin.

Ser Arthur smiled to himself. Steffon Baratheon looked at Princess Visenya and Princess Joan like they hung the stars and the moon. He felt sorry for the little lord.

Queen Elia still watched the two girls. "Who is the better fighter between the two of you?" she asked directly.

That question made the Kingsguard grimace and wish he could speak. But it wouldn't be his place. It was Joan who spoke. "Who cares?" She was clearly disinterested in the question. "We both fight well. That's all anyone needs to know."

The king looked at his daughter. "People are curious, Joan," he told her. "The court knows that Visenya is the best when it comes to the battlefield. And yet, you have shown that you can stand against her and other foes."

"I've heard some of the Tyrell men say that 'Senya is clearly better than Joan," Aegon added. He took a sip of his wine but his eyes were paying attention to the conversation. "The other Reach lords have taken it up too. Lords from the Stormlands wouldn't accept Robert losing to anyone but the best however."

Ser Arthur had heard the same thing. At least in regards to the Reach lords. He wondered if it was some form of revenge for her refusal of the Tyrell boy. If that was the case, it was certainly an odd way of doing it. As he wondered, his eyes fell to the princesses. He knew just how well Princess Visenya was skilled with the blade. He and the other Kingsguard had trained her. But he had also seen Princess Joan fight. If she wasn't using any method, dishonorable or not, she could use to win, she was a good fighter.

The princess looked at her father. "You really think people need to know if someone is better at something?" she asked him.

"It would satisfy their curiosity," he told her.

"In that case, I challenge you to the field of battle, Father."

The entire table went silent at those words. The queen looked at her with a dumbstruck shock that also burned with satisfaction. Her children were stunned to silence. The king said nothing. He waited. Ser Barristan finally spoke from the other end of the table. "Princess, you're not serious, are you?"

"No, I am serious, Ser Barristan. I will face my father in combat," she replied. "Musical combat, that is."

"…What?" said Princess Rhaenys.

She pointed a finger at the king. "I want to see how my fiddle compares against your harp, Father," she declared. "Let this feast determine who the better player is."

And for the first time in a very long time, King Rhaegar let a full smile slip onto his face. "I accept," he said with no hesitation. "I'll have my harp fetched. You do the same with your fiddle."

"Already have it."

" _She had been planning this,"_ Arthur realized. Was that why she came to this feast?

The announcement was made and everyone turned their eyes onto the king and his daughter as they strode into the center of the hall. The king held his harp, a thing of beauty with strings of silver and polished oak. What caught the eye was the three-head dragon at the head. They weren't roaring but they still looked fierce. One side of their faces had a sun carved into it. He knew there was a wolf with a crown of roses on the other side.

By comparison, Joan's fiddle was plain. He could see how it was made from less quality material and worn too. But she held it like it was one of her greatest treasures. She clearly loved it. They stood across from each other. "You are the king, Father," she said. "You play the first song."

King Rhaegar smiled. "Very well, Joan." He took his harp in hand and played a song.

Arthur listened to his king and friend, smiling to himself. This song was something he had written in honor of Princess Visenya. It was a simple song that beautiful in its simplicity. When he sang, his low voice floated through the hall but held the pride of a father. He sang of his love for his new daughter and everyone heard that love.

The Kingsguard didn't need to look at Visenya's face to know she was both embarrassed and proud. She always got like that when she heard the song. It was Joan's face he paid attention to. He thought that she would've looked irritated or saddened that Rhaegar would sing such a song right to her face. But she kept her face neutral. She was waiting.

The song ended and the hall applauded their king. He accepted it all with silent modesty. When the applause died down, he looked to her. "Your turn, Joan," he said.

She didn't hold her fiddle to the ready. "It was a good song, Father," she told him. "But it will be nothing to mine. I said that this was a battle, and I brought reinforcements." She looked at the door and whistled. It opened and a troop of men and women walked in. Joan struck up a lively note on her fiddle and the troop started to dance.

Arthur stared. He couldn't help it. It was like no dance he had ever seen before. They didn't dance with each other but as a group. They were coordinated, knowing where everyone else was. They danced with their feet, tapping rapidly against the floor. Metal shined on their shoes and the air rattled with the sound of the tapping.

But it wasn't annoying. The sound was energetic as the song was lively. Princess Joan was smiling happily as she played. It was infectious. The people in the hall started clapping along and he did too. The dancers took that as an encouragement and danced even faster to it. Joan kept up with the tempo. Her smile widened the more she played.

When the dance ended, the hall erupted into applause. Even the queen applauded while her children leapt to their feet cheering their sister. Princess Joan looked at the hall with a happy expression. She loved the applause the hall gave her. What more, she loved the attention she was getting from her father and siblings. King Rhaegar proclaimed her and her friends won without any protests or judgements. What's more, he pulled her into a tight hug and kissed her forehead in front of everyone. It was something he had never done before and the surprise of it was plain on her face

The good feelings of the feast lasted until the next morning. That was when the letter from the North came. Lord Stark was requesting aid for the Wall. The largest army of wildings ever seen were seen coming south.

 **Aegon**

(Location: the Wall)

He hated Joan more than he could've thought. _"And I thought Winterfell was cold!"_ Standing beyond the Wall with only a fur cloak to keep him warm, Lord Stark's home was pleasant in retrospect. He wasn't the only freezing his arse off. Rhae and 'Senya, and the army were freezing theirs off too. The only one who was comfortable was Joan.

"Ah, take in that clean, bracing air," his sister proclaimed, smiling widely. She wore a fur cloak. One. He and the others were huddling beneath at least two and they were still cold.

'Senya glared at her. "Joan, if I could reach out and touch you, I would strangle you."

She just laughed. "Don't laugh next time I complain it being too hot down south."

Aegon shivered. "If we get warm again, we'll try and remember that." He looked up at the sky. The dragons were high above, watching from atop the Wall. Remembering the awed looks the Night's Watch had when they saw the dragons made him smile. "Why couldn't we have the dragons down here again?" Ghost stayed by his mistress's side, watching patiently. It just wasn't fair he could be there while Fang was up above.

It wasn't Joan who answered him but Rhae. "We're trying to get the wildings to come so we can talk," she reminded him. "Having the dragons beside us would scare off anyone."

That had been the plan since they left King's Landing at least. The wildings have been pushed back away from the Wall one too many times, yet they kept coming back. Clearly something else needed to be done. The Night's Watch was told the plan last and they protested in force. They had been silenced but only by word from Aegon himself, with his father's authority and Lord Stark.

"They're here," declared Joan, her eyes on the woods.

Aegon looked to the woods. For a moment, he couldn't see them. Then they appeared. The wildings came out of the forest like a wound bleeding slowly. One that kept on bleeding 'til all he could see was an ocean of fur covered bodies. _"Seven hells, is this all of the wildlings north of the Wall?"_ he found himself asking, watching the ranks keep growing and growing.

Joan started for them, Ghost beside her at a steady lope. "Come on," she told them. "They'll want to talk to us."

"Can you be sure of that?" Rhaenys asked.

"If they wanted to attack, they would've come out charging."

Aegon looked back at the Kingsguard in command of their force. "Ser Jaime, have the men follow at a distance and make sure they keep in rank," he ordered. He followed after Joan, doing his best to at least try and look regal. It was hard to do with such a heavy cloak and bloody cold.

The four of them approached the wildings. Aegon could feel their eyes on him and his sisters. They were watching them, judging them. He had the urge to put his hand on Blackfyre's hilt and he could see Rhae had the same urge with Dark Sister. His hand twitched to do it but he didn't let it. Joan had told them not to do draw steel. It would lead to a fight. It was why she only carried Bloodraven's bow on her back.

They walked to a particular woman amongst the wildings. She looked no different than the others to Aegon's eyes. She was a hard-looking woman who carried a spear that easily matched her in height. As soon as Joan came close, she said, "It took you long enough to come back. Did you get lost on the way?"

"And hello to you too, Osha," Joan replied. "I happened to like the weather down below the Wall so I thought I would stay a bit."

"If that's true, why would you come back to this frozen waste? All that wine and boys should've been very distracting."

She wrinkled her nose in a frown. "In case you haven't notice, you lot are very loud. It's hard to be distracted when you're stomping around like a drunken mammoth." They glared at each other for a long moment. Then the smiles broke out. "It's good to see you again, Osha."

"You too, girl," she said. "Who are they?"

"It's my family."

"Don't look like no Starks to me."

Joan did look every inch a Stark, not a Targaryen, even so, Aegon felt himself prickle at the slight, unintended though it may have been. Actually, now that he thought of it, had Joan even mentioned she was Targaryen to these people? She had come here before they were particularly close to say the very least.

"The other family, Osha," Joan told her.

He took that to start the introductions. "I am Aegon Targaryen, Crown Prince of Westeros. These are my sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya. We've been sent here to talk to Mance Rayder."

The wildling spearwife looked them over once. She didn't look that impressed with them.

"You've come to talk but you've got an army back there."

"And you've got one back there," he shot back. The hell had she been expecting? For them to walk into the biggest wildling horde with nothing to back them up?

Joan looked to Osha. "We're here to see Mance," she said. "Let us go see him."

The spearwife shrugged. Aegon was glad when the wildings broke formation and created a path. They walked into the woods. There were more than what came out of the forest line. He saw children running around, stopping to stare at them curiously. This wasn't just an army. This was an entire people trying to get through the Wall.

Joan came to a stop before a large tent and they stopped alongside her. Three men stood in front of the tent, along with a woman holding a toddler at her hip. Two of the men looked fierce, the one wearing scale armor of bronze and the small but massive looking one with golden arm bands. The third man was plain in comparison to them. The only thing that stood out about him was the cloak he wore. If Aegon didn't know better, he would've thought the black coat riddled with scarlet was an attempt to mock them.

Joan stepped forward to the plain-looking man. "Hail, Mance Rayder, King-Beyond-The-Wall," she said formally, bending the knee.

" _That's Mance?"_ Aegon thought to himself. He looked at his sisters. They shared the sentiment. The man didn't look very kingly.

The King-Beyond-The-Wall looked down at Joan. "Are you done?" he asked, sounding like a father exasperated by something his children had done. Joan grinned as she stood up and hugged him.

He returned the hug. When they were done, the massive man hugged her. "It is good to see you again, little girl!" he shouted as he hugged her tightly. "I suppose you've got some tales to tell now, don't you?"

"I think that they'll beat yours, Tormund."

"Har! We'll have to see!"

They broke the hug and she gave a brief nod to the third man. _"Are they not on good terms?"_ Aegon wondered.

Joan looked around. "Where's Rattleshirt?"

"Dead," said Mance.

"Good, I hated him." She looked around but with a more concerned look. "Dalla?" she said.

An utter look of anguish on his face told it all. But the woman at his side said, "She's dead." She hoisted the toddler up on her hip. "This is her son, the little monster that he is." Joan tickled the babe, making him giggle.

Mance Rayder looked to Aegon and his sisters. _"About time he noticed us,"_ the Crown Prince thought. He didn't like his arse freezing out here.

"Joan, are you going to leave Prince Aegon and his sisters unintroduced?" he asked her.

She looked at them and at him. "You already know them," she replied.

"But they do not know us."

"Hm, I guess you've got a point." She stepped back until she was standing in the middle. "This is Aegon Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone, and his sisters, Rhaenys and Visenya, Princesses of Summerhall." She looked at her siblings. "This is Mance Rayder, the King-Beyond-The-Wall, his goodsister Val, Styr, Magnar of Thenn, and Tormund Giantsbane, Tall-talker, Horn-blower, Breaker of Ice, the Mead-king of Ruddy Hall, and Father of Hosts." She frowned. "Am I forgetting any of them?"

"Thunderfist, Speaker to Gods, and Husband to Bears," the wilding told her.

"Ah, right. Sorry." She had to have known Aegon and the others would be starting at the man. She wasn't even looking at them or gave a single explanation.

They walked into the tent. It was heated by crude braziers. Aegon was just glad for the warmth. There was no table in the tent. There were some chairs but they could barely be called that. He sat down in his and was surprised that it didn't collapse on him.

"So," said Mance Rayder, "Why has the King on the Iron Throne sent his children to me? Am I beneath his notice?"

It was a good thing Aegon had been expecting that answer. "No, he sent us to see how a man makes himself a king. He also sent us to talk to him."

"Talk," Tormund repeated. "A kneeler comes to the crows' aid and he wants to talk?"

"Yes. We came to talk and to offer terms."

The wildings clearly did not expect that. Joan was sniggering off to the side when she looked at their faces. "Terms?" said Mance, trying not to be so surprised.

Aegon nodded. "Yes, terms. My father has given me the authority to give you terms, discuss them, and fulfil them if they are agreed by us both."

"What are your terms?" asked the woman Val. She was still holding the toddler. Aegon looked at her. For the first time, he saw just how beautiful she was. Why hadn't he noticed before?

"The Iron Throne is willing to allow you through the Wall and settle in the Gift. But you will have to answer to the laws of the Seven Kingdoms and everything that means."

Both Styr and Tormund frowned. "You'd have us be kneelers," Giantsbane said.

Rhae looked him in the eyes. "You want to come through the Wall and live in our land," she told him. "That means you have to live by our laws."

"Wildling's don't take well to the rules of lords and kings," Mance said.

Aegon shrugged. "My sister," he gestured to Joan, "is the one that convinced us to speak with you. Frankly, I thought it an optimistic idea. Those are the only terms we'll offer if you wish to get past the wall without bloodshed. Submit your people to the King's law and disarm."

Mance looked at him, stock still in his seat as he tried to stare down the prince of the Seven Kingdoms. He turned to look at Joan. "Will he keep his word? I'll tear down the Wall with the shin bones of the babes before I march them past to a slaughter, unarmed."

Joan, turned her eyes towards him, looking at him for just a moment before she answered. "Aye. I trust him."

Styr and Tormund didn't want it to happen but Mance agreed to it after her word. They weren't happy but they followed their king's commands. They all came out of the tent and Aegon watched Mance talk to his people. He spoke with confidence and reassurance. There were protests and he answered each one.

When the questions were all answered, the wildings grumbled but agreed. Aegon was impressed. He wasn't alone. "He calmed them all with words," Rhae said, impressed. "They listened."

Joan stood a little apart from them. It was a small distance but it seemed to put her closer to the wildings. "That's why he's the King-Beyond-The-Wall," she said. "He spent years making them listen to what he had to say. If he speaks, they will hear him."

"HEY!" an angry voice shouted amongst the wildings. Aegon turned his head to it and saw someone pushing their way through the crowd. It turned out to a woman with a pug nose, round face, angry eyes, and red flaming hair. "YOU!" she said, looking right at Joan. There was a spear clasped tightly in her hand.

Aegon's hand went for Blackfyre as she approached his sister. But then she dropped the spear, grabbed Joan like she was afraid to lose her, and kissed her hard. What was worse was that Joan returned it just as passionately.

Shock filled his heart. Rage and anger quickly replaced it. Who was this woman kissing his sister? That wasn't right! His hand twitched for Blackfyre, wanting to draw it out and hack the woman apart. Rhae and 'Senya looked exactly the same. "Joan," he said in a clenched voice when they finally stopped kissing, "Who's this?"

She looked at them, a little embarrassed. "This is Ygritte," she told them. "We were…together when I was with the Free Folk."

"Together," repeated 'Senya through clenched teeth.

She actually made a face at them. "You didn't actually think I was innocent whenever you came to me, did you?"

 **Visenya**

(Location: Castle Black)

She found it a lot easier to think about Joan's teacher than her former lover. The way she had gone on about the Old Mother, Visenya had honestly expected this woman to be as tall as the Mountain had been, able to knock giants out with a single punch, and make men wet themselves with a look.

What she got was an old woman who being five feet tall would've been generous. She had leaned against her spear like she had to. But that didn't mean she was weak. When Joan had approached her for the first time since she left, Visenya watched her hit her sister across the head with her spear and proceeded to talk at such intensity and length that it was a wonder Joan hadn't been apologizing like a child having been caught doing something wrong. The gigantic mammoth behind her also helped.

Yes, it was easier to think of the Old Mother than Ygritte. The redhead seemed to take an immense pleasure in tormenting her, Egg, and Rhae about her and Joan. She also mocked them, uncaring if there was a dragon nearby ready to burn her.

Visenya stared at her across the yard. "I'm going to kill her," she growled.

Egg was there to stop her from doing that. "You can't kill her," he told her. He was trying to sound reasonable, like the prince he was supposed to be.

"You want to kill her just as much as I do, Egg," she said. "Even Rhae wants to kill her." It took a lot to make their eldest sister angry (aside from mentioning Father's nickname). But even she was considering taking Dark Sister and hacking the bitch apart.

But Egg wouldn't budge. "We can't kill her. We're trying to make sure all the wildlings come through the Wall safely. Anything we do could cause trouble." He looked at her pointedly. "You're attacking her and trying to kill her didn't help anything."

She clenched her fist at the memory, wanting to punch something. She wanted to say that he would've done the same thing in her position. But she knew that he wouldn't have. It happened because she had lost her temper. "It wasn't my fault," she muttered. "She kept tormenting me." What was she supposed to do? Ignore her when she throwing insults?

But it wasn't the fight she regretted, it was what happened when the fight was stopped. Joan had gotten between them, pushing them away. She demanded what the hell both of them were thinking. Visenya had taken those words to mean she was siding with the wildling girl. She had lashed out against Joan.

Later she would regret it but at that moment she was too angry. She demanded Joan just what the wildling girl meant to her. But that wasn't all or enough for her. She shouted at her sister, demanded answers she was too slow to give. She turned to insults, saying things to Joan that she hadn't believed in the longest time. By the time she got there, she didn't think about what she was saying. She just said it.

It was only when Egg pulled her away that she realized what had happened. Joan's face was so cold, colder than it had been in a long time, colder than the Wall. She only said there were things she had to done and she left. The wilding girl tried to go with her but was shoved away.

They hadn't seen Joan in a month since. She had stayed on the other side of the Wall, supposedly to help the rest of the Free Folk to come through. But Visenya felt like that was a lie. They had no word from her.

She missed her. Even though she had detested her sister when they met at Winterfell, Visenya wasn't ashamed to say that she had changed. It wasn't until Robert Baratheon had tried to invade and she went into battle the first time. After the battle, she had found herself in Joan's bed, clinging to her like she was the only grip on sanity Visenya had. Joan could've kicked her out of the bed, send her somewhere else. But instead, she held onto her and told her it would be alright.

And in the capital after the war, after the damn egg incident, she bared herself to Joan. She could've been rejected but she wasn't. Joan accepted the love she offered. Since then, they became close, closer than she ever was to Egg or Rhae. She had gone to visit Joan in the Point more than either of her siblings. If one of them had an idea, they discussed it fully with the other.

Finally, Visenya tore her gaze away from the wilding bitch. "I'm going to find something private to do," she told her brother.

He didn't stop her as she walked away. He just gave her a reminder. "The Old Mother wants the three of us to come see her later," he said. "We have more training to do." When the spearwife had seen their dragons, she hadn't impressed by them. Instead she claimed to be appalled by how poor skinchangers they were. She demanded they attend her and learn how to control their powers. They could've laughed her off but they saw how Joan obeyed her commands and thought better of it.

"I'll be there," she said, already walking away from him. Her feet took her to the armory storage. Since she was to be the warrior of the king's children, she learned more than how to fight and plan a battle. She also learned how to inspect arms and armor, cleaning away rust where she found it. It was a process that she found soothing and calming to her mind.

She was in the middle of inspecting a battle axe when she heard the armory door open. She turned around and saw that wilding bitch standing there. Anger bubbled in her throat and she started to sneer. For once, she wished Seawing wasn't so big. Her dragon on her shoulders would really be intimidating. Instead she asked, "What do you want?" She kept the battle axe in hand. It could prove useful.

"Nothing," the bitch said.

"If you want nothing, then go away. I'm inspecting the arms." She turned back to the weapons.

"Why? Can't you kneelers look at your own weapons?"

She wanted to hit her. "What do you want, wilding? Don't say nothing," she said before she could open her mouth. "If you wanted nothing, you wouldn't be here."

The wilding looked at her with a sneer. "I just wanted to see what it is that she sees in you lot."

She knew who she was talking about. "We're Joan's family." That was all she needed to know.

She walked closer to her. "You mean the family that spat on her and ignored her?" She smirked. "She told me all about you. How you mocked her, made trouble for her."

She didn't like having those memories brought up. "Things have changed."

"I don't think so. You wouldn't have yelled at her like that if they had."

She burned with anger and embarrassment. That happened because she had caused it. "You're just upset that she no longer wants to be with you." She had seen the two of them talking after that kiss. The bitch had stomped away, clearly angry. Since then, she was always glaring.

But now she was smirking. "Aye, that might be true. But the memories will still be mine." Visenya paused. "You don't know what I mean, do you?" Ygritte continued. "Funny, with all I've heard about you dragon folk, I would've thought you had her in your bed by now. But it's not like she was a maiden."

Her hands gripped the axe tighter. Her head looked very inviting to bury the axe in. "What do you mean?"

"She told you. All that she experienced, she learned from me. She came, scared and uncertain, but willing. Very willing," she said with a smirk.

"Shut up."

"What's wrong?" she asked, knowing full well what was wrong. "Did I make you angry? What do you have to be angry about?"

She took a threatening step towards her. "I told you to shut up."

"Are you going to make me, kneeler? You wouldn't last in a fight against—"

Three roars pierced the roof of the armory, dragon roars. Visenya looked upwards, even when she knew it wouldn't do anything. She tried reaching out for Seawing, like she was being taught. She didn't have much practice. All she got was a sense of raging emotions, all centered on a face, her sister's face. "Joan!" she screamed as the horns outside blew a long note.

She dropped the axe and ran for the door, shoving past the bitch. She saw the Watch rushing towards the gate. Someone was screaming "Get the fucking gate open _now_!" Rhae and Egg came running, holding their swords. Their eyes showing the same fear she had in her eyes. They all looked up to the Wall's top. Their dragons weren't there but they could hear them roaring and flying, on the other side.

The gate opened and they ran for it. But as they reached it, Ghost came running through. "Get clear!" Joan's voice shouted through the tunnel. She came with six more riders, two wildlings, two more from the watch and two more Stark men, astride a group of horses that looked like they were about to fall down.

But it wasn't the horses everyone started staring at. They were staring at the creatures huddled together on the sled tied to the horses. If Rhae hadn't shared the picture from a book in the library with them, Visenya never would've thought she was seeing them. But they were there: children of the forest. There six of them, two of which seemed smaller than the rest. She couldn't tell if any were male or female. Their ears kept flickering as they looked around, large eyes looking at everything. No one said a word.

Joan climbed down the horse on shaking legs. She rested against it for support. She looked weak, so weak. But then she pushed off and started shouting at everyone. "Get that gate closed! Get a watch atop the Wall! Look for wights and Others! And someone take care of the horses!" Like soldiers obeying their commander, the men of the Watch scattered to do as she commanded.

She came around the horse and looked at Castle Black again. She looked at it with new eyes. When she was done, it was clear she didn't find what she was looking for. Visenya watched her walk to the children and kneel before them, unsure if she should say anything. "I'm sorry," her sister said to them. "I know I said that I would take you to the forests when we got through the Wall, but night will fall soon. We'll have to stay the night."

"We do not blame you for that," one of the children spoke in a sweet woman's voice. "You brought us to safety when you could have left us to die. For that, we thank you."

"I did as I was asked by him." She looked around again and this time, her eyes fell to the sept. It wasn't the Sept of Balor. It was actually a little rundown. But she looked at it with interest. "Would you consider staying in the sept for the night?"

The children looked at the sept too. For a long moment, they didn't say anything. Visenya wondered if they would refuse. They looked to each other and seemed to communicate in silence. "We will look upon these gods and know them," their speaker declared.

Joan nodded her head. She looked to the bitch. The wilding brightened when their eyes met. "Ygritte," she asked, "could you escort them there? Make sure the septon doesn't kill them?"

The brightness faded and Visenya felt smug. It was clear what she was supposed to do. "Alright," the bitch said. She walked to the sept. The children followed after her, all staying close.

Joan watched them go. Once they were gone inside the sept, she finally looked at her siblings. A tired smile appeared. "Hello."

Visenya was the first to reach her, pulling her tightly into a hug. Egg and Rhae were right behind her. Together, they all hugged her tightly, holding onto her like they would lose her again. They took her to the King's Tower, where their rooms were. As soon as she was in the room, Joan went to the fire, sitting close to it. "Gods," she moaned. "I've missed the warmth."

"Joan," said Egg, "where have you been? We thought you were helping the wildings come through."

She looked away from the fire. Visenya saw how tired she was. She looked thin, like she hadn't eaten in the past few days. "It had started like that," she told him. "But then I was summoned."

"Summoned?" repeated Rhae. "You're a princess. Who can summon you?"

"Probably the closest thing to a god on this earth," she answered. "In his old life, he was Lord Brynden Rivers."

Visenya wanted to disbelieve that, say that her sister was still suffering from the cold. But she had still seen the children of the forest. "Bloodraven is still alive?" she asked instead.

"He used to be but that's not the point. He summoned me and had me bring the children to safety. The Others had found his cave and were descending upon it." She looked back to the fire. "He sacrificed himself to give us time to get away. We spent what felt like countless nights getting back to the Wall with the Others and their wights behind us. When I saw the Wall, I was never so relieved. Of course, I couldn't spend a moment's time to waste. They were right behind us." A tired smile graced her lips. "I was glad to see those dragons of yours take flight and come to my aide."

"Joan," said Rhae, "Those two smaller children, are they…?"

She nodded. "They're the young ones. And one of the females I rescued is pregnant. I'm hoping that they will be safe in the forests." She stood up and wavered. "I'll have to write to Lord Stark, let him know."

She made for the door but Egg stopped. "Joan, sit down," he told her. She looked ready to protest but she fell against his chest. He caught her and helped her to the bed, holding her gently. He sat her down. Rhae and Visenya came to her sides, holding her and giving her warmth. Egg knelt down in front of her.

"There are things I need to do," she tried to say.

Visenya held her firm. "They are things that can be done later," she said. "Honestly, Joan, you can't just keep running off like this. I know it's beginning to scare me." She was lying. It already scared her deeply. She looked at Egg and Rhae. The same feeling was in their eyes too.

Joan looked at them all. She saw their eyes. She looked down, unable to meet them. "Sorry," she said. "I'm just…used to doing things on my own."

The way she said those words, she sounded like the girl she had been before they had left the Eyrie, all those years ago. Visenya hated to see that. "Joan, we're here," Rhae told her.

"We don't like the people you associate with, but we're here," Visenya added. She only realized what those words after she said it.

Joan looked at her and then the others. "What do you mean by that?" she asked. They didn't answer but she somehow knew. "You three have been fighting with Ygritte."

"Not fighting, exactly," Rhae said. It sounded weak to them all.

Egg tried to strengthen it. "We've just tried to stay away from her."

She didn't believe them. "Why do you guys hate her?"

"She makes it so easy," Visenya told her. "All the time you've been gone, she's been there, tormenting us with what she knew. Before you returned, she tried to rub it in my face about she had you. I wanted to bury an axe in her head. I wanted to kill her. Why, Joan? Why her?" she asked.

"Would you believe me that she was the one who shot Ramsey Snow's dog?"

They all looked at her carefully. "Really?" asked Egg.

"No, that was Tormund. Ygritte was everything I wanted to be then. She was brash, confident, unyielding in what she believed, and brave. I thought if I could be her friend, I would get some of what she had. The love came later."

"Who started it?"

"Does it matter?"

It did matter. It was one thing if the wilding made the first move. If it was their sister, it was something else. "It matters," Visenya told her.

"It doesn't matter. I told her that what we had was over." She looked at them all. "I've changed."

It should've been reassuring, her saying those words. But Visenya didn't feel so reassured. She looked at her siblings. They didn't look reassured either. An idea came to her. It was bold, unprecedented, and would probably send many lords into a rage. But she didn't care about that. What she did care about was her sister. "Joan, if you had to marry us, the three of us, would you?"

Egg and Rhae were surprised but she could see the question in their eyes. They wanted to know too. Joan looked at the fire, her gaze not showing anything. Visenya wondered if she would say no.

But she didn't. "Yes," she said quietly.

 **Arianne**

(Location: Water Gardens)

As Ellaria came down to the breakfast table, Arianne looked at her. "Well?" she asked.

"She still refuses to come out," Ellaria said. She didn't sound irritated by that but amused. "Apparently, it's still 'too damn hot.'"

Prince Aegon laughed as he cut open a blood orange. "How the mighty have fallen. Considering how she teased us for the cold in the north, I can't help but feel this is justice."

"Laugh if you want to tempt fate," Rhaenys told him. "If someone has to go talk to the wildlings again, guess who father will be sending."

Aegon kept his smile, turning it on her. "Let's bloody well hope not it's not you, Father's little maester."

His sister gave him a dirty look. "Would you stop calling me that? You know how much I detest that name."

Visenya grinned. "How else are we supposed to keep your head swelled with pride, dearest sister?" Aegon laughed, even harder when Rhaenys turned her frown at him.

Arianne laughed with her cousins. She was glad that they had come here to the Water Gardens. After the events to the north, Rhaegar decided his children deserved a reward, what better place than Dorne with their cousins.

Of course, that was the official version. The unofficial version was that the king had to get his third daughter, Princess Joan, out of the North. The wildlings listened almost solely to her, not the King's authority, or Ned Stark. If peace was to be lasting, the King needed to be sure there was a legitimate chance of it, not just the illusion brought by Joan's presence.

And not once since coming here had she come out of her room. At first, she had found it amusing but now Arianne was getting annoyed. "I believed that I offered the princess some of my dresses," she said to her cousins. "Did she not find them suitable?"

Ellaria laughed. "She asked if I was japing with her when she saw them."

"Not surprising," Visenya remarked off-handily.

She looked at her cousin with a suspicious look. "Is that supposed to mean something, coz?"

"It should. Have you seen what you wear, Ari? Some of those dresses are so sheer, all you have to do is stand in the light and people would see through them."

It was amazing how naïve her cousin could be. That was the point. But Ellaria laughed again. "Your sister was of the same opinion, Visenya," she said. "She told me that she could wear a sheet and have the same effect."

"And then you offered me a sheet," said the princess in question as she walked into the room, looking at her with a frown.

Arianne wasn't the only one who turned to look at her standing behind Ellaria. Rhaenys started to look at her with a smile but it quickly turned to shocked surprise. "Joan, what are you wearing?"

She looked down and then back up, confused. "Clothes," she said. But it was nothing so simple.

"Where's the rest of it?" her sister asked her.

Arianne stared at her. She was wearing men's clothes that were obvious not tailored to her. They looked to be a size too big on her. But that wasn't the issue. What the issue was that her tunic had no sleeves and the pants stopped above her knees. It was all held together by a heavy belt around her waist.

Still, while shocking, it was also appealing. Arianne saw her skin and the muscles underneath. This girl had strength in her and the way she moved showed how she didn't care what others thought of it. It was intriguing to see her walk to the table. "I wasn't going to stay in the room forever," she said, sitting down next to Visenya. "But I wasn't going to wear any of those dresses. I had to make do." She reached for a few choice meats and fruits.

Aegon eyed her up and down. If Arianne didn't know better, she would've thought that look was more than it was. "Hacking apart clothes is making do?" he asked his sister.

She glared at him. "I'm out of that room and I'm not wearing a bedsheet." Ellaria snorted a giggle at that remark. Her daughters didn't hold back that much. They giggled loudly and smiled broadly at the princess.

Arianne suppressed the insulted pride she felt. "So," she asked them. "What shall we do today, cousins? Perhaps we should go to the beach and enjoy the sea?" There was a small beach near the Water Gardens, something that she had always enjoyed.

While her cousins looked as if they wanted to, the wolf princess looked more nervous and scared. "If you want to do that, go ahead," she told them all. "I'll find something else." Visenya swung her head her way, a grin beginning to appear on her face. "Not a word, 'Senya."

"Did something happen?" Elia Sand asked, confused. Arianne felt the same thing.

Now Rhaenys was grinning. "Joan got seasick coming down to Dorne. So she's naturally afraid of the sea."

"That's not why and you know it, Rhae," she said back. "And I'm not afraid of the sea." She looked down at her food. There was an embarrassed look on her face. It made her look more like the girl she was supposed to be. "It just unnerves me."

That just sounded like the most ridiculous thing Arianne had ever heard. "Unnerves you?" she repeated, letting her know just how stupid that sounded. "How does it unnerve you?"

"It's just…there. It's completely empty, devoid of anything."

That was even more ridiculous. "There is something there, the sea."

"Arianne, leave her be," Aegon told her.

Joan herself spoke. "It's alright. You go have fun at the beach. I've got something to deal with."

He looked over at her. "What's that?"

"How I'm going to get Ghost out of that room." She said it with such a straight face, she had to be serious. Still, everyone laughed.

* * *

For the next two weeks, Princess Joan baffled and irritated Arianne. She kept her distance, preferring the company of her wolf. She would stay back and watched the children as they played in the pools, never joining them. The only ones who seemed to get her out were her siblings and the younger Sand Snakes. With them, she responded and smiled. To others, she was quiet and guarded.

Arianne's older cousins interacted with her but only in the sparring yard. She would spar with them and that was it. Arianne tried to get her involved many times, to talk to her as a woman to another, but she would always get that guarded look and clipped tone. None of her warmth, none of her smiles, was for her.

It should've infuriated the Dornish princess. But she found herself watching the wolf girl. There was something about her that made her watch. She didn't know what it was. Maybe it was because of her looks. While she wasn't a great beauty like Arianne, but there was something about Joan Targaryen that made people pause and look at her.

It came to Arianne one night when a thunderstorm broke over the Gardens. She was coming back to her room, passing the pools, when she saw Joan standing out there, close to the pools. _"What's she doing out there?"_ she thought, keeping to the shadows near a column. The wolf had always refused offers to join them in the pools, especially when the sun set (the children enjoyed the waters during the day but the night belonged to the adults and their fun). And now, she was standing out there, in the pouring rain.

Thunder cracked overhead and boomed. Joan looked up at the dark sky. A smile, a full smile appeared on her lips, and it made her radiant. She began to dance in the rain. This wasn't a dance of the court but a childish dance. It wasn't even a good dance. But it was clear that she was enjoying it. She danced amongst the rain almost as if she was trying to dodge every raindrop.

Arianne watched her beauty became more evident. _"Seven hells,"_ Arianne thought to herself as she kept watching. She stepped outside of the shadow so she could see better.

Joan twirled in the rain, the smile on her lips carefree. She laughed and danced. She didn't care about the thunder above. But when she saw Arianne, she froze. The joy on her face crumbled away. She became human again. Arianne opened her mouth but she took off.

The Dornish princess took off after her without even thinking about it. "Wait!" she called out, her voice carrying her authority. Joan froze at that command, stopping in the middle of the hallway. She looked back and the worry in her eyes made her look more like a girl and less like a woman. She seemed more vulnerable.

Arianne came to a stop in front of her. "What were you doing out there?" were the first words out of her mouth.

Joan lost the worry, replacing it with her usual guarded look. "I felt like it."

"You felt like dancing outside in the middle of a thunderstorm?" It sounded so stupid to her. Why would anyone want to dance in the rain?

"I have never been in rain that warm before," she said shortly. "Have you been in rain that's cold and stinging? I don't think you have. So don't begrudge me this." She turned around, still sopping wet.

She was right. Now that Arianne had thought about it, she had never been in rain that was cold enough to make her shiver. She had always heard how Joan had lived with the wildings and then in the wolfswood.

"You're right," she admitted. "I've never thought of it something like that. I suppose we're different in that."

"We're different in more ways than one."

There was something in those words. Something about them made Arianne irate. She could see how the girl in front of her didn't want to be here, in Dorne. "You don't want to be here in Dorne, do you?" she asked.

Thunder boomed overhead. "I'm here because the king has made me come. If it were up to me, I would rather go back north."

She heard something more, how the girl didn't want to be here. "Then go," she told her. "Go back north. There's nothing keeping you here."

Joan's eyes burned with outrage. "There is something keeping me here."

Arianne grew angry. Then she felt foolish. Of course there was something keeping her here. She was barely out of sight from one of her siblings. But she wasn't going to let this girl know that she was right. "You've run away once, what's stopping you from running away again?"

She watched the girl bunch her hand into a fist. She meant to strike her. She didn't do anything except wait. She released the fist and looked at her. "There is more than that."

Arianne couldn't believe it. It was clear that the girl had never wanted to come to Dorne. "What?"

"There is…something I would like to see."

"Then go see it." It was as simple as that.

Joan was silent. She was thinking. "You know what? You're right. I should go see it. Thanks for that, Princess." She turned around and walked away.

" _Wait, what?"_ Arianne couldn't help but think. She was just going to walk off and leave what seemed like a good argument brewing to die? She was tempted to go after her just so they could finish the argument. _"No, don't do that, Arianne."_ She would prove to the girl that she was the better person. She turned around and walked back to her own rooms.

The next morning, when her cousins found their sister missing and becoming frantic, she realized that she had caused it. But she kept quiet. She wasn't going to reveal it to them.

 **Rhaegar**

(Location: Dorne)

When he received the raven from Aegon that Joan was missing again, Rhaegar did not panic. Not this time. Some might have considered that strange, even cold. After all, he had torn through the Riverlands and the Vale for four months trying to find her. But somehow, he knew where she was going this time. It wasn't back north.

Instead of sailing down to Sunspear to meet with his children, he sent them instructions to keep looking but to meet him at Starfall. He rode down to Oldtown with the Kingsguard. From there he sailed into Dorne and up the Torentine to Starfall. Once he had arrived, he eased his children's worries but told them to stay. They had wanted to argue but he had a feeling that what would come next, they shouldn't see.

From Starfall, he and three of the Kingsguard rode out. They rode into the mountains, to a place he had hoped to leave behind. "Gods," said Arthur riding beside him, "I had hoped we would never see this tower again." Oswell didn't say as much but his foul look agreed.

Barristan Selmy, his Lord Commander since Ser Gerold passed away, looked up at what Rhaegar had once called the Tower of Joy. "Are you sure she is here, your Grace?" he asked.

"She's here," Rhaegar told him. "It's the only place she would go in Dorne." They rode up to the tower in silence. The last time he was here, it was Ned Stark. Both of them had come for a woman they both loved only to mourn her.

That hitching post was still there, still strong and sturdy. They tied their horses to that post and approached the tower. Joan's direwolf was there, lying down against the door. It looked up as they approached. Rhaegar knew that it was standing sentry for her. He looked up at the tower. He knew where the window to that room was and half expected to see Lyanna there. But the window was empty.

"I will go in alone," he declared.

His Kingsguard didn't like that idea. "My king, that is not wise," protested Ser Barristan.

"We do know what's up there, Ser Barristan. My daughter," he answered. "She'll be waiting for me and me alone." He went for the door. Ghost let him pass.

Climbing up those steps felt like an eternity but then the door was there, waiting for him. His hand was slow as it pushed it open and he walked in. Joan was standing there, looking at the bed. "She died here, didn't she?" she asked without looking at him. "She died in this bed."

He didn't need to ask who his daughter was talking about. They both knew. "She did," he said, closing the door behind him. He walked around to the other side so he could look at her. "Both I and your uncle mourned her when she passed."

"And you left for King's Landing, with me."

"Yes. Your uncle wanted to take you back to the North, to Winterfell."

She frowned at him. "You should've let him."

"No, I brought you back to where you belonged, with your family."

"My family?" she repeated, her anger growing beneath her voice. "You mean the family that took my name away from me when your wife gave you a third child, a second daughter? You mean the family that treated me like I wasn't there unless I could be blamed for something they did?"

He remembered. He also remembered something else. "They are not those people anymore."

"It still happened!" she snapped. "And where were you when all of this happened? You were there and you said nothing! You did nothing!" If she had something in her hands, she probably would've thrown it at him.

"You're right," he confessed. "I did nothing." Her anger started to blaze but he continued to speak. "I did nothing because I had to."

"Why?" she asked him.

"I am the king. I must be the example for all others to follow. I must think of the realm as a whole. I must think of it first before I think of my family. Other kings have thought of themselves or their families first and those actions have caused chaos in the Seven Kingdoms. I did the same once and threw Westeros into a war. I will not let that happen again." He looked hard at her. "One selfish choice caused so much death. Not unlike when you refused the egg. I was angry that you would refuse something that would help bring the realm together."

Her anger roared into her voice. "I didn't want that fucking egg! I wanted your love! I wanted you to know that I was your daughter!" she screamed. But even as she showed her anger, her eyes filled with tears.

"You are my daughter. You have my love."

She came around the bed so fast, grabbing him by his jerkin. "THEN WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME!?" The tears were finally falling down her cheeks, leaving a wet trail in their wake.

It hurt him to see her like this. It truly did. "When Visenya was born and Elia wanted to name her so, even though you had that name, I had to think of what could've happened if I refused. How much insult would the Martells take? How much more could I give? But still, when you vanish from us, I searched for moons to find you. When I heard from your siblings that you were in Winterfell, it took the Small Council to stop me from riding north immediately. All I could do was to send Ser Lewyn back north, to protect you and teach you the spear."

"Ser Lewyn hated me because your wife hates me. You had to have known that."

"I did but I had hoped that he would do his duty to you and you would simply learn from him. I was wrong, I admit that. Still, I did not force you to come south and I was happy to see you when you did. When I heard of your fight with Robert, I will swear until my dying day that I felt my heart stop. Aegon and Visenya stayed by your bed when I wasn't there."

"And you tried getting me married off," she said with acidic accusation.

"If I had, I would have chosen your husband for you and made you marry him," he rebuked her.

She didn't enjoy that. "I was still made to choose one!"

"Because I wanted to see you happy, Joan," he replied. "I felt that you did not wish to be in the Red Keep. I thought that a marriage would get you away from it, even if I did not want it. I also knew that I could not force you into it, like I had with Aegon and his sisters. It was why I allowed you to choose yourself."

The tears were still falling. "I didn't want that. I just wanted to hear you say three words. Three, simple, words," she repeated. "How hard is it to say those three words?"

She was right. How hard was it to say it? He had never said them to her. That had to change. He looked into her eyes. "I love you," he told her. "I'm sorry I never said it before now. But I love you, Joan."

Those words broke her. She slammed herself into his body, crying fully now. He held her in place, kissing her hair and telling her those words she wanted to hear. They stayed there for some time. How long, he didn't know, nor did he care.

 **Joan**

(Location: the North)

The rope rested taut against her shoulder. It was a good feeling, something that she missed. Of course, fighting a sleigh with a moose through the bush was a feeling that she didn't miss. If there were one thing she missed about the Point, the bush was easier to get a sled through.

As soon as she saw her cabin in the clearing, she stopped and looked with a smile. Though the cabin in the Point was a good one, this one would always be the cabin in the woods for her. It had been a ruin before her uncle had repaired it. It was two stories with the second floor all the bedroom. It was a nice big room with a nice big bed.

Of course, there was also who was waiting inside for her. She looked down at Ghost. "I still find it hard to believe," she told the direwolf. "I'm married."

She was married to her siblings. It happened only four days ago. After their Father had sent them back North to ease more negotiations with the Wildlings and even bring other clans further south with the North being so very sparse on fertile farmland to support the new influx of people.

It had been the fifth time in as many months and this time, Senya had 'decided' to ask while they were all here, so far away from the capital and its prying eyes. She married them before the nearby heart tree.

The witness to it had actually been, surprisingly, Jamie Lannister who smiled at the four of them coyly, the whole way, promising to keep the secret. Since they were married, the four of them had spent the days in her cabin. She could only imagine the fits the Seven Kingdoms at large was beginning to have with all four of them effectively missing. They would have to leave soon, but for now she could enjoy this. It was a little difficult for them, and a little more than amusing for her. They had been raised in castles, had lived in them most of their lives. What they were doing right now was new for them.

Still she helped, and they were learning. She pulled the sled around the back of the cabin, where she could skin the moose. Visenya was there, waiting for her. Her sister looked and her smile brightened her face. "There you are, Joan. I've wanted to try this again."

"I hope this time won't be so horrendous," she replied. Visenya was the most enthusiastic out of them for trying out this life, but her enthusiasm sometimes made more of a mess of skinning. She turned back to the sled. "Come help me with this?"

They both grabbed the moose and hauled it to the skinning table. There, Joan guided her sister through how to skin it. To her credit, she didn't retch when the guts came out, when the skin came off, or when it was deboned. She got a little excited at points but Joan was able to guide her back before she went off.

Their hands were bloody and so were their clothes when they were done. "Come on," Joan told her. "Let's get this salted and placed in the cellar." Once they were done with the salting, they carried it to the cellar doors. She opened the doors and walked down the steps carefully. There was a rack there for the meats. They placed the moose meat there, ready to be used later.

They went back up and entered the cabin. Aegon looked from where he was in the kitchen. "I thought I heard you two out there," he said. "When did you get back, Joan?"

"Recently," she answered. "How's the dinner coming?" As it turned out, Aegon had some skill with cooking. He enjoyed it and took to commanding her kitchen like he had always been there. Whatever he was cooking now, it smelled great.

"It's coming along. It should be ready once you cleaned up."

She nodded. "Then we'll go to the steam room." The steam room was something that only this cabin had. After learning how to bath with the steam from the Free Folk, it was something that she just couldn't give up. When her uncle rebuilt this cabin, she made sure that the steam room was added.

They stripped off their clothes, throwing them into the bucket that would be used to wash them. Rhae walked out as they were walking in. "Alright, Joan, I'll admit it," she said. "That room is beginning to appeal to me."

Joan looked at her. The steam room certainly agreed with her. "You didn't bring a book in this time, did you?"

She chuckled. "No, I learned my lesson after you tore through the door the last time." It had been a terrifying experience.

"I just didn't want you to lose your book. The steam would've done terrible things to it."

Visenya looked like she was getting impatient. "Can we go in now?" she asked. "We're wasting the steam." Their sister let them pass and they went into the steam room. There, they lounged as the sweat soaked through their pores. Joan watched her sister relax and smiled to herself.

When they were done, they changed their clothes and joined Rhae and Egg at the dinner. Egg had cooked a stew that was hot and edible. They might've thought it wasn't up to the same level as the cooking in the Red Keep, but Joan had learned a long time ago not to be picky. "It's good, Egg," she told him,

He smiled. "Thank you, Joan. I tried something different."

Rhae took a bit of the stew meat and closed her eyes to savor it. "Whatever it was, I love it," she said. "Was it some kind of herb?" She had been finding all the different herbs in the wolfswood and cataloguing them, some didn't grow down south. They needed the cold.

"No, some spice." He looked at his food in thought. "I'm starting to think of the Seven Kingdoms as a kind of stew."

All three of his sisters stop eating at that. "A stew?" asked Joan, a smile coming out in force on her lips. "Are you serious, Egg?"

Her brother actually looked insulted that she would say that. "Of course I'm serious. Separate ingredients are their own thing but when they are mixed into a stew, they come together and make something greater than themselves, just like the Seven Kingdoms."

'Senya gestured with her spoon. "And yet, somehow, I don't think the lords of Westeros will like being compared to a stew."

"I never said I would tell them I'm not a complete idiot sister."

"Well, there was that time at Summerhall…"

His face went red. It wasn't from how hot the stew was. "We agreed to never bring that up again."

She looked innocently at him. "Then how would I tease you?"

Rhae rolled her eyes at the foolishness, but Joan could see that she was enjoying this. She looked around the cabin. "It's hard to believe that we only have another week here in this cabin,"

They all stopped and thought about that. A raven had been sent to the king about what they had done. They hadn't received a reply. They all wondered what their father's reaction would be. Joan was more concerned about what the queen's reaction would be. The relationship between her and Queen Elia was cold at best.

"Do you think we could delay going back south?" 'Senya asked. "They're just gonna send us back north soon enough anyway."

Joan saw what she was doing. She was stalling. "'It would only delay what comes next," she told her sister. "We'd have to go back to King's Landing sooner or later."

"I recommend that we get Uncle Oberyn on our side," Rhae suggested. "He would understand our situation and support us."

The Red Viper just might do that. But she dismissed it from her mind. "Rhae, that's later. Let's focus on what we have here and now." It was a sentiment that they could all agree on. They finished the meal and Joan shooed them away while she cleaned the kitchen.

She always found the work of cleaning the kitchen soothing. There was just something about the work, tiring and somewhat filthy as it was, that relaxed her. Maybe it was just the work. She always found relaxation in work. It must've come from her time pretending to be a servant and being amongst the Free Folk. She wasn't afraid of getting her hands dirty.

With the last pot cleaned, it was time for bed. She quickly checked on Ghost and the dragons. They were all content, sleeping peacefully. Her wolf slept inside the cabin while the dragons had made nests outside, keeping close. But when she checked the guest bedroom, she saw that it was empty. It was odd, but she had a feeling she knew where her siblings were.

She climbed the ladder to the second floor, right above the kitchen. The candles were still burning, making the space glow with warm fire. She saw the three separate sets of clothes on the floor before she saw them in the bed. "We've been waiting, Joan," Egg said, lounging naked in the center.

'Senya and Rhae were by his sides, just as naked as he was. The candlelight danced on their skins, making them all glow. Again, she was struck by just how beautiful her siblings were. Seeing them all like this made her throat dry. "I can see that," she said, clearly noticing how ready his cock was. Her heart was pounding in her chest. "This is a first." The past nights, she had only shared the bed with one of them while the other two shared the guest bed.

Rhae stretched out almost cat-like. Her dark eyes were heavy with desire. "We decided that we wanted to try something different. And well…" Her smirk seemed much more sensual now. "This was something on all our minds."

She could agree with that. She had wondered what it would be like to sleep with more than one of her siblings. She had just never acted on that fantasy, thinking that it would never happen. Yet now, the possibility was right there before her. 'Senya got off the bed and walked to her, her hips swaying in the candlelight.

She came to Joan and kissed her. As they kissed, her hands worked to free Joan's hair from its tail, letting it fall free down her back. The kiss stopped and she silently led her sister back to the bed. Rhae came to them and together, 'Senya and her stripped Joan of her clothes.

It was a slow strip since they would kiss every inch of her flesh, slowly and teasingly. By the time Joan was completely naked, it was all she could not to buckle from all the pleasure they lathering her with. Her eyes were on Egg. He hadn't moved from where he waited. He watched it all happen with patient desire.

She came to him, crawling up his body to kiss him on the lips. He tasted like the spice the stew had been cooked with. She leaned back and let him enter her. As it always did, the sensation of him filling her made her gasp. She could feel his cock throbbing inside her. He started to move his hips, slowly. The pleasure could've made her weep.

'Senya was at her side, kissing her neck. She looked down and kissed her in her curly white hair. Rhae was kissing Egg hard, fighting passionately with their tongues. All the while, his hips would not stop moving. He slowly coaxed her to her peak and when she reached it, he helped her reach past it.

The pleasure overwhelmed her, both from him and 'Senya. She lifted her head in a wordless scream of pleasure. As she came down from the peak she had reached, she pulled herself off of him. Together with her younger sister, they worked Egg back to wanting more.

They spent the night like this, ravishing each other with their bodies and their need for each other. When the morning came, they all lay together in a mess of tangled limbs and bodies, feeling completely tired and satisfied. "You know," Joan said with a content voice, "We should do this more often."

The others chuckled and agreed. She drifted back to sleep. Here, resting on Egg's chest and holding 'Senya's head to her breasts, she felt safe and at peace. She didn't want to leave this safe feeling of the people she loved.

 **End**

 **Author's note:** Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

If any of you were wondering how Joan knew Joffrey had said on the way into King's Landing, let's just say that she had Ghost watching any would be suitors.

The song Joan played during the feast was _Caoineadh Chú Chulainn_ , from Riverdance. It fitted the situation perfectly. Listen to it at the scene and you'll understand. Also, the song that was played in the village is _D'aon Ghuth Amhain_ by Seo Linn. That is one good Irish band.

I do believe that the ancient Valyrians were skinchangers with dragons. They just weren't good at it. I don't know if there are any actual skinchangers in Essos or used to be. But if they weren't, it would stand to reason they had use other things to help them with dragons.

You know, it might because the books were set in wartime or because of the walls, but I never understood why King's Landing expanded the city limits. If it was filled to burst with people with a stink to match, more room would've helped with some of the problem. Then again, that might be the root of the whole expand or die concept.

I'll see you all next chapter!


	3. The Mother and the Crone

Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Emergence of the Dragon

Chapter 3: The Mother and the Crone

"Talking"

" _Thinking"_

 **Rhaegar**

(Location: Winterfell)

Ten years they had been suffering through this winter. For ten years Westeros lay on the brink of total collapse. Half the people were starving while the other half were dying in the constant, endless, unremitting war. The south sent every able-bodied man they had left to the north. By now, some armies were openly recruiting women. There were simply no soldiers left.

Rhaegar felt helpless. A flesh wound was beginning to fester into a danger. Winterfell was where he was forced to stay, surrounded by the dead in their millions as the soldiers fight on the walls day after day after day. The only reason they've lasted this long is dragonfire. It will be over soon though. Scouts and skinchangers of the Free Folk had already reported that the Night King was coming. The last of his children would have to fight it.

The last.

Aegon…

Joan.

Visenya and his sweet Rhaenys had died already. Rhaenys had died first. None of his children could talk about that day. It was too hard for them. On one hand, he was glad for it. He didn't want to know how his daughter died. On the other, he wished he could have some closure. He wasn't there that day.

But he was there for when Visenya had died, protecting her sister. She had died in his arms even when he and Joan begged her to live. His miracle child, the daughter he and Elia never thought they would have, died and there was nothing he could do about it.

Aegon was king now, for all practical purposes. He had been wounded in the last battle by an Other, causing the festering. That battle had been a defeat that forced their army back to Winterfell. The Lady Catelyn Stark tended to his slowly dying body as his son and daughter fought alongside her son.

He listened as the day wore on, as the sounds of battle once again grew to a crescendo before fading to the background of his thoughts and grew again, like the rolling tide itself was beating against the walls. The Others and their army of the dead followed them to Winterfell and besieged it. They had broken through the gates, he did not know how long ago.

Finally, the call came. "Fall back! Fall back to the keep!" the voice shouted up through the window.

Rhaegar felt his breath catch a calm sort of fear taking hold of his mind as a deafening bone rattling _crack_ of thunder sent a thrum through his dying body.

"Protect Prince Aegon!" He recognized Jamie Lannister's voice and the sounds he could hear outside the walls began to bounce up from the inside of the walls itself. The soldiers were in the keep. In the Great Hall itself.

He followed the fighting through the sound. Through voices and shouted orders, through the crying of servants.

They barricaded the Great Hall, fell back into the tight passages and hallways, to the throne room of Winterfell itself. Robb Stark, his voice hoarse from shouting called to his men, to his _sister_ Joan.

Was she dead now too?

The battle continued for what felt like an age of eternity but could not have been anything but minutes at best.

And finally, there was silence. It was unnatural, something that sent, for the first time in a long while, a true sense of fear through his mind, coiling in his thoughts. _"We've lost then."_ A castle full of men, of wounded and panicking people did not just go silent. Only the dead were silent.

He lay there abed, cursing the weakness of his body, cursing the fact that he had to wait here while his children fought, that he could not at least fight beside them in the final hour, but would instead have to wait here for some monster to find him and finish the job.

Then, finally, a sound…the scraping of metal, the shuffling of feet through the hall.

This was it then.

Something thumped against his door, a fist, or the weight of a body, and the heavy northern oak was pushed open. And there was Joan, a weapon in both hands.

Dark Sister was dragging on the ground along with her spear. His daughter was covered in blood from her hair down to her sides and Rhaegar feared the gods would invite one last cruelty onto him by having the last sight in this world be the unnatural blue of the wights overtake his daughter's steel grey eyes.

But when she looked at him, her eyes were clear, brimming with tears and pain, but clear and grey. Her weapons clattered to the floor as her fingers lost their strength. She stumbled forward and Rhaegar could do nothing more than watch in horror and anguish as the girl's whole body seemed to finally surrender the last of its strength and she collapsed beside his bed, the crown of her dark hair just peeking out over the edge.

She started to cry. Rhaegar reached forward, his hands combing through the dark tresses as her broken, repeated whispers of "Father,"echoed through the room. It was an hour later that he learned she was the last of his children.

 **Samwell**

(Location: the Red Keep)

It felt odd, being back down south, in the warmth. As they fought the Others, the cold had been all around them and warmth was treated like something to be treasured. But as Sam walked through the Red Keep and saw all the people walking past him.

They knew hunger, they knew strife and hardship. It had touched all. But they did not know _cold_. They shivered with the chill of night and the still breaking spring as if it were freezing.

Sam wasn't a fighter, never had been, and never would be. He didn't want to be. But even he could look at these newly made knights, little more than boys that talked of "glory in battle" now that the battle was over, and he couldn't help but feel angry. Even he, who had nary picked up a sword but had tended to those who did.

The door he was looking for was opened. Joan was sitting there at a desk, looking over papers. "Joan," he said, coming in without knocking. After so many years of friendship, he smiled easily at her.

She looked up. "Sam," she said warmly. She wasn't showing just yet, but it would be there soon. Her pregnancy was announced after the remnants of the army had started returning south, marching with spring. It had been the best kind of news they had all heard, along with the King making Joan his heir.

He looked down at the desk. "What are you doing?"

"Documents of the Small Council," she said. "I'm looking them over, preparing myself for the time I sit the Iron Throne." She looked down at them and chuckled. It seemed a little forced to him. "All that time ruling in the Point and I didn't see so much paperwork." She stood up and winced.

He saw it. "The wound?" he asked her.

"Aye," she said with a nod. During the war, she had been injured by an arrow in shoulder. An old wound by now. It healed but she couldn't raise her arm above her head anymore. "It's nothing. Why are you here, Sam?"

The Tarly man sighed a bit through his nostrils. "I'm concerned about the men."

"Sam," she said with a slight reproving tone. "The war is over. You don't have to look over the soldiers anymore."

Sam knew that but even without the chain, he was their maester for all intents and purposes. It was a hard thing to let go of. He might not have been a good healer but he made sure they lived. "Joan, I think some of the men are having a hard time accepting the fight is done. The gold cloaks have arrested five of them for causing a brawl in a winesink."

She frowned as she listened to what he had to say. "That's not good. Have there been other arrests?"

"Not as far as I know. But I'm sure they could happen." He looked away from her. "I can't blame them."

She eyed him. "You can't?"

"I think I know what they're going through. I go to sleep on a bed after years of sleeping on the hard ground with nothing but my cloak and the fire to keep me warm. The bed feels too soft. I look at these young noblemen, practically boys, and only think about how foolish they are for wanting glory in battle." He was glad that his brother had lost that notion shortly after he joined the fight. The thought of Dickon still hurt. His brother had died in Winterfell.

Joan listened when she didn't have to. "I know what you mean," she admitted quietly. "Listening to the ladies of the court prattle on about what knight looks handsome or how a good jouster they are, I want to hit them all with my spear." She looked down at the papers. "This is my escape from them."

They smiled at each other and laughed at the ridiculousness of it. They had fought through the worst of Winter and here they were, talking about silly court ladies and even stupider squires and boys. It was foolish. But the foolishness ended and Sam became solemn again. "Joan, what are we to do about the men? We have to do something about it."

"What do you suggest?" she asked him.

"I don't know. Maybe we should come together and talk about what happened?" If they talked, that might help.

She was silent as she thought about it. "We're probably going to need a lot of ale and wine," she finally said. "Otherwise, they'll never talk." He was glad she agreed. He didn't know how much it would help but he was glad that she was with him.

 **Ellaria**

(Location: the Red Keep)

Oberyn did not talk about the days where he fought beyond the Wall. Or what he fought either. Neither did their daughters who returned. Ellaria did not like it, but she could accept it. Because it wasn't that they didn't talk of it at all, but rather that they did not talk about it with her. They talked to the others who fought, others who were there, who could _understand_. So they weren't alone. She didn't like that distance between them, that separation, but she could live with it because at least they were talking to _someone_. Too often she'd seen those that didn't.

Unlike her Oberyn or their children however, during her time here in King's landing Ellaria was becoming increasingly aware of the fact that Princess Joan _did not_ talk to anyone. Either due to the distance brought about by her status as heir apparent to the throne with her siblings now dead, or some other reason Princess Joan would bury herself in her work, talking to people she knew about trivial things, and visiting the dragons. That was it. That was all she would do.

For all appearances, she was managing well, at least to the vapid senseless members of the nobility. But a guard here, a servant there, they had eyes too and the princess could not be on guard all the time. Waking in the night, hands she clenched over her knees to keep from shaking when she sat, a grip too hard or a blow too strong in training. These were little things of course. But they were adding up and she did not like the picture they painted.

But who to call? Ellaria had little doubt the same issue that plagued her Oberyn and their daughters would present themselves doubly so in the princess. Someone who was not there, who did not understand and whom was, an acquaintance whose interactions were few and far between. No. The princess would not confide in just anyone, she was famously taciturn and even rude to everyone but those she considered family.

But her family was dead in the south, all that was left were those in the distant, frozen north, too far to help, and even if she spirited word to them the princess might grow angry on principle. She disliked being "coddled." It was a poor state of affairs unfortunately, and she did not have a ready solution. Fortunately, there was something she perhaps, _could_ do to help even in some small way to ease the tensions.

The gods all knew that the princess and the queen were still on cold terms, just barely above hostility. Either through memories of her childhood or some sentiment left over from her siblings, the princess avoided the queen like the plague, never venturing close or even remaining in the same room when the queen entered. A state of affairs that Ellaria knew her friend Elia, did, unfortunately, prefer, even now.

Her friend's longstanding hatred for the girl was blinding her to a very apparent and rapidly approaching reality that she had to face. This, Ellaria hoped, would ultimately help the both of them, _if_ she could pull it off, which was far from certain.

She sat in the gardens of the Red Keep, far removed from the eyes of passers by due to the troupe of Dornish men she'd asked Oberyn to lend her for the day, they cordoned off the place, glaring angrily enough at any who came near that they just scared them off outright if they thought to come and eavesdrop on the queen.

Soon enough, a little past noon, Elia finally came dressed in black. Always dressed in black now Her friend whose best colors were bright yellows and darker shades of the orange red of her house. "Hello Ellaria." Elia said, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Oberyn's paramour stood up, offering a kiss to the queen's cheek as she smiled back before they both sat down.

They talked for a time, she asked how Elia was coping, how Rhaegar's strength was keeping. She was careful to avoid the subjects that might venture too close to Joan just yet; such as the city's reconstruction and the war itself, softening her friend enough to, hopefully, break the subject without her shutting the proverbial doors on her.

When she finally did, Ellaria felt as though she had to take a deep breath before the plunge. "How are things with Joan?"

Elia didn't scowl, exactly. She was the queen and she didn't scowl. It would not do. There was just a slight frown on her face, an unpleasant turn of her lips and a creasing of the eyebrows. "She is still alive, unlike my children." she said.

Ellaria winced but decided to press on, Elia hadn't stood from the table, and that, for now, was enough. "Elia…" She ventured, trying with just the tone of her voice alone to help her friend understand. "This… animosity you keep for her…" She could see the darkening behind her eyes, the slight curl of her lip that threatened to be a sneer and Ellaria could almost see the gates slamming shut right in front of her. "She will be the mother of your only grandchild!"

It was like a lightning bolt piercing through a mountain. Ellaria saw that wall of contempt crack, a well of despair building up behind it as the memories of her children came back to her. She decided to strike while the proverbial iron was still hot. "Elia," she pleaded, leaning forward to grasp the woman's hand over the table. "I'm not going to pretend I understand, I'm not going to pretend I agree or approve of it. But if you don't let this go, if you don't _try_ to let go of your hatred you may never even have a real relationship with your grandchild, the last piece of your children you have left…"

Elia sighed, and her hand squeezed Ellaria's in a tight, almost painful grip. "I know," she said. "It's something that keeps me awake at night, a thought that comes and goes.

"Then why?" Ellaria wanted to scream.

"This…" Elia's hand moved, pressing to her chest. "This hatred I have of her, I'm not sure when it became so ingrained really. When it became something I couldn't let go of. I hated her because of Lyanna Stark, because of Rhaegar, then because of you, and Oberyn, and now because she is alive while my three children lie dead. It has…twisted…curled inside me like a gnarled, jagged root. And even when I feel like I must be rid of it as you say, I simply can't." Elia looked to her, her eyes glistening with tears she did not let fall, even as her lips curled in a smile that was ugly, twisted with something akin to anger. "When did hatred become part of my nature, Ellaria? Should I blame her for that too? For making it easy?"

The paramour looked to her friend, her eyes glimmering with their own sadness as she looked at this, the broken, cracked, near shattered remains of her longtime friend. She reached forward, cupping the woman's cheek using her thumb to wipe away at the hint of tears that still hadn't fallen from her eyes. "If you don't find it in you to make peace…" she pleaded, almost _begging_ her friend to _act_ on what she already knew deep down. "I promise you that you will regret it forever, Elia."

 **Elia**

(Location: the Red Keep)

Elia had been sitting with her ladies when the news came. Joan was giving birth. Her grandchild would be born soon. That thought stayed with her throughout the rest of the day, even though she did not go. She would wait. And while she waited, she talked with her ladies.

Of course, the topic had shifted, no longer was it about the intrigues and gossip of the court, but of, Joan.

Then this question came. "Your Grace, who do you think Princess Joan will marry?" asked Lady Alerie.

She knew it was coming, it was the whispered word of many nobles and common folk, it was why the Red Keep had been flooded in recent months with a small army of noble sons from great and small houses. Still, she pretended otherwise. "Marry?" she repeated. "Why do you think that, Lady Tyrell?"

"She must marry."

Elia tried not to scoff. She failed. She was Dornish. She believed that a woman didn't need to marry to rule. Lady Alerie was a northerner and as such, still held to that. She refrained from her scorn and asked, "You think she is unable to rule alone?" It still hurt that Joan instead of her own children would ascend the Iron Throne. Oh how she loathed the thought and the pain that came with it. But so long as the dragon's blood sat there, she would not complain.

"Your Grace," said Jayne Bracken, one of her newer ladies. "Shouldn't she marry? She would need help raising her child and being queen."

She looked at the girl. "She is married." That was all she would say and she hoped that it would be enough for them to stop.

They didn't. "But she is not married now. Even then, her marriage wasn't a normal one. Would the faith even recog—" The girl stopped herself, realizing her mistake far too late.

Elia turned her attention onto her. She didn't say anything or do anything to her. She just looked until the girl's gaze fell to the floor. "The princess was married," she said shortly. "To the prince. Is there anyone who would dispute that fact?" No one said a word to that. She went back to her needlework.

They started talking to quickly enough. But the topic was still on Joan. "What would life be like when the princess is queen?" wondered Lady Rowan.

Elia couldn't rebuke or chastise her for wondering that. As much as she wanted to say that the king was still alive and well, with possibly more years of rule to come it was no secret that her husband did not have the same strength he had during the winter or before and every day saw him weaken further. She knew that the loss of their children had something to do with it.

Lady Dalt, a Dornishwoman just like her, waved it off. "Life will go on as it has, my lady. Nothing will change if a queen sits the Iron Throne."

"Indeed," agreed Lady Allriya Dondarrion. She was not a great beauty like her sister Ashara had been but she was still attractive enough. When her betrothed came back a different man, changed from the war, she stood by him and married him. She was a happy woman now and she made her lord husband happy too.

The other women looked at them like they were mad. "My lady Dondarrion," said Lady Alerie in a voice that was kind but also patronizing, "Everything will change. For the first time, a queen will sit the Iron Throne. And not just any queen."

Elia looked at Lady Tyrell. "What is that supposed to mean, my lady? Do you have something to say about Joan?" She might not like the girl but she was a part of the royal family. They stood for one another against any threats.

The door opened and Ellaria came striding in. "Elia," she said.

The queen stood up instantly and her ladies did too. "The babe," she said.

Her brother's paramour smiled. "Come, meet your grandson."

A son. Joan had a son. That thought was succeeded by the fact she was a grandmother now. She left the room to follow Ellaria. They followed but she didn't think of it. Her mind was on the newborn in the Red Keep. She met Rhaegar outside the door, the Small Council behind him. He must've gotten the same message. Together, they entered the room, leaving the others outside.

Ghost lifted his head from the bed to check who was coming in. When he saw it was them, he rested his head down beside Joan. She sat in the bed, looking tired and exhausted but happy too. And she should be. She held her son in her arms.

Elia and Rhaegar approached the bed. Joan looked up at them. "Hello," she said to them.

The king looked down and smiled. "A handsome lad," he said. The babe opened his purple eyes, saw his grandfather, yawned, and went back to sleep.

"This is your grandson." She looked down at him with a mother's smile. "Say hello to your grandparents, Aerys."

The name froze them both. In hindsight, Elia should've realized that she would name a son after her grandfather. But at that moment, all she could say was "Aerys?"

The wolf looked up at her. It did not bare its teeth, just looked at her. Its red eyes were unsettling but she refused to bend before an animal. Joan looked up at her too, her face guarded. "Yes, Aerys," she said.

Rhaegar played the peacemaker. "Named for my father and the grandfather you loved," he said.

"Yes." She looked down at her baby with determination. "And this one won't go mad. The Targaryen practice ends with me." She looked at them. "I will not marry again and I will not give him any siblings. Aerys is my only child and he will marry someone outside this family. The same will go for his children and their children. The incest ends."

The queen heard those words and knew that she meant to hold to them. Joan looked more like a queen in that moment than she had before. And strangely enough, Elia found that she wasn't worried about what she would do.

 **Baelor**

(Location: Dragonstone)

Baelor wasn't quite sure what was happening in recent days. Everyone had been in a rush on Dragonstone and no one would tell him what was going on. It was very annoying. That was why he was going to the room with the Westeros table. He knew that his mother would be there.

When he walked in, he saw that he was right. She was there, looking out at the sea. "Mother?" he said, walking to her side.

She looked down and smiled. It was her special smile that was only for him. "Hello, sweetling," She reached down and picked him up, holding him close.

Baelor felt that he was too big for that but he didn't complain. He secretly liked it. "What's happening?" he asked her. "Everyone's running around and not saying anything."

She made a face, the face she makes when she doesn't like something. "We received a raven from King's Landing. Joan has given birth to a son."

"I have a new cousin?" That sounded like good news to him. He wouldn't be the youngest in the royal family now.

"Yes, you do."

"Are we going to go see them?"

She looked at him. "Do you want to see them?"

It was up to him? He never got to make any decision. But the way Mother sounded didn't sound too happy. Was it because she was stuck on Dragonstone with him? They hadn't been to King's Landing since Joan returned. Why was that? Maybe if they went, things would be better. "Let's go!"

Mother didn't look happy. "Alright, Baelor," she said. "We'll go."

"Mother, aren't you happy that we're going?" he asked her.

She looked at him with an expression that he didn't know. She was silent and it was getting annoying. Why wouldn't she say anything? "Joan and I…haven't had a good relationship since she came back, not since she threatened you."

Baelor frowned. That was a new word. It wasn't a good thing. "She threatened me? What did she do?"

"She took away your position as your uncle's heir."

He wasn't quite sure what that meant. "Hair?" he repeated. "Nuncle Rhaegar has hair. How could I be his hair?"

Mother looked at him and laughed, her smile brightening her face. "No, sweetling," she told him, "Heir, not hair. It means that you would've sat on the Iron Throne after him."

He thought about his nuncle. He remembered him sitting in that big chair, never looking happy. Was it because he sat in the chair all the time? If that was the case, he didn't want it? "That's okay," he said.

His words made Mother look at him as if he was sick. "Okay?" she said again.

He nodded. "Nuncle didn't look happy. If I sit on the chair, I won't be happy. That wouldn't be fun." That made sense to him and that was just fine. "When are we leaving?" Mother was surprised by what he said. He could see it on her face.

But they still sailed for King's Landing. It was the first time he remembered sailing. He wasn't sure if he liked it or not. The wind felt great but his tummy didn't feel as good. Ser Justin said that it wouldn't happen so much with experience. He didn't know so much about that.

When he and Mother came off the ship, they were greeted by a mean-looking man. He wasn't wearing any kind of armor, just rich velvet clothes. They didn't look good on him. Maybe it was the color? "Your Highness," he said, his voice matching his look, "Welcome back to King's Landing. I am Daniel, the Lord Sheriff."

"Lord Sheriff?" Mother said. "I do not know that office."

"The king has placed me in charge of ruling King's Landing."

"He cannot rule himself?"

Baelor didn't know why she looked so amused. The man didn't look pleased at what she was saying. "The king rules the Seven Kingdoms, your Highness. One small city should not matter to her."

" _Small?"_ This was the biggest city Baelor had ever seen!

"And what were you before you were the Lord Sheriff, Goodman Daniel?" Mother asked him.

"A tavern keeper," he answered. He looked to the men around him. "The gold cloaks will escort you to the Red Keep, your Highness."

When they entered the Red Keep, Mother asked where Joan was and a servant directed them to the godswood. Baelor stayed close to her side as they entered the godswood. It was different, more like an actual forest instead of a garden. It felt like the city was gone when he stepped inside and he was surrounded by nature.

They found Joan sitting against a tree with a big dog at her side and a baby in her arms. She was smiling and it was a happy smile. The dog looked up and stared at them. Baelor quickly realized that it wasn't a dog but a wolf. Joan looked up and saw them. "Dany, you came," she said.

"Of course we came," Mother told her. "Do you think that I wouldn't come meet my new nephew? Deny the chance for Baelor to meet his new cousin?"

"Of course not," she said. She looked at him. She didn't seem as scary as the last time he had seen her. She gestured at him. "Come here, Baelor. Come meet your cousin."

He let go of Mother's hand and walked over to her. The wolf got up and approached him. He went still. He wasn't sure what was going to happen. The wolf was bigger, much bigger than him. It came to a stop in front of him and lowered its head so their eyes could see each other. The wolf sniffed him all over. When it was done, it padded away and sat down beside Joan.

Baelor wasn't quite sure what just happened. "Ghost was just getting your scent, Baelor," Joan told him. "That way, he can find you later. Now come here."

He came up to her and looked down at his little cousin, who looked up at him. They had the same colored eyes and hair. He noticed something else. "He's small."

Joan smiled. "So were you, once. He'll grow."

That was true, he guessed. He kept looking at the babe and the babe kept looking back at him. Aerys reached out his hands towards him. He looked at the babe and then at Joan. "What's he doing?"

"He wants you to hold him."

He didn't think he should. He looked back at Mother. "Should I?"

She nodded. "Go ahead, sweetling."

He sat down in front of Joan and held out his hands. She placed Aerys in his arms and showed him how to hold him properly. He was afraid that he was going to drop the babe but he still kept him in his arms. Aerys smiled and it made him smile.

Until his nose was grabbed by a tiny hand. "Ow," he yelped from the pain.

Joan took her son back. "No, Aerys," she told him. "We don't grab people's nose."

Baelor rubbed his nose, getting rid of the pain. He looked at Joan, sitting there smiling at her little babe. A question bubbled to his mouth. "Do you not like me, Joan?"

The godswood was silent. Joan looked at him oddly, her eyes shifting behind Baelor to his mother, some other emotion passing through her eyes before she looked back to him. "Why would you ask me that dear nephew?"

Baelor shrugged, looking down to the baby. "I don't know… I just… thought you didn't like me." He looked at Mother. Who stood stiff, fingers clenched into her clothes, fisting the material as she held herself rigidly in place. Aerys gurgled in his mother's arms. He seemed happy and unaware of things. Baelor looked at him. He couldn't help but smile. There was something about that happiness that made him want to smile too.

Joan looked at him again. "Baelor," she said. "Can you do something for me?"

"What?"

"Aerys is going to be king after me. I don't know when that will happen but I know he will follow me. He is going to need aid and advice. Do you think that you can provide it for him?"

He supposed he could but he didn't see why he couldn't help her? Did she think he couldn't help her? "I can help you."

She smiled again at that. "I'm sure you can. But you can help Aerys more. He'll look up to you."

He hadn't thought about that. It would almost be like he was a big brother. He could do that. "Okay!" he said brightly. "I'll help Aerys. He'll be the king and I'll be the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

She didn't laugh or approve of what he said. "There is more to life than a knight of the Kingsguard, Baelor," she said. "If you wish to become one, I will not stop you. But I ask you to find something more."

"What else is there?"

"That's for you to decide, Baelor." She looked past him at Mother, that same, fleeting look passing across her eyes. "Dany, are you just going to stand there?" It took a moment, long enough for Baelor to almost look back at his mother before she came forward, kneeling beside him in the godswood to reach for the baby.

Baelor was left to ponder what his cousin had told him. Was there something more to being a knight? He didn't know. But it might be fun.

 **Barristan**

(Location: King's Landing)

King Rhaegar was dead. Barely two years after the birth of his grandson. It was an open secret that his life had long been a tenuous thing since his injuries and more so the news of the death of his children during the winter. Everyone knew he would die someday soon, but the king had refused to name anyone as his heir but Joan, not even the little princeling.

Even now there were rumblings through the court that Prince Aerys should be crowned. The only thing that stopped them was Joan's popularity with the soldiers of the realm. As one of the few surviving nobles that had fought the horde of dead to the north, there was no end to the veteran troops that would follow her if it came to some kind of conflict of succession. The dragons outside the Red Keep, that only answered to her, helped too.

The city was in mourning for their king. A week of dark drapes and blackened flags hanging over buildings to the outside. Dreary colors taken down abruptly at the seven-day mark before the coronation was to take place. The lords and ladies of the realm were already traveling to King's Landing before that. They did not see the king's body laid out since the princess had him burned the day he died. The way she had looked at the fire, Barristan thought she felt like she was back beyond the Wall. He had heard reports that the fallen had been burned and quickly, with no time for mourning.

Now, there was the coronation and everyone had come to be there. The highborn stood within the Great Sept and the smallfolk were outside. There was just one thing wrong: the new queen was nowhere to be found.

"Ser Barristan," the High Septon whispered in his ear. "Where is the princess?"

"She will be here," he replied.

"She should have been here before now. Does she think that she can become the queen without the blessing of the Seven?"

The Kingsguard did not say anything to that. He knew that the High Septon had to believe that the Faith was the only religion in Westeros. But the princess kept more to the old gods than the new. For all he knew, she could be in the godswood being anointed as queen. The more he thought about it, the more he found it plausible.

He spotted Ser Arthur and excused himself from the High Septon. He went over to the Lord Commander. "Ser Arthur, where is the princess?" he asked.

"She's coming, Ser Barristan," replied Arthur. "And she's the queen now."

"Of course, but where is she? She should have been here by now."

"She decided to spend a vigil in the Red Keep's godswood, communing with the old gods. She should be making her way to the Great Sept as we speak."

"On foot?" he asked.

"Yes, I believe she said she would do that."

"We must send out men to find her!" He struggled to keep his voice down as he spoke. No one else needed to hear this.

"Calm yourself, Barristan. Joan knows how to reach the Great Sept."

As if to affirm his words the doors to the Sept opened, silencing everyone. Barristan looked and saw Joan standing there with Ser Jamie. She was dressed simply, as if she was going on a journey. The only sign that she was royalty were her clothes, black with a hint of red. She looked tired but also determined. She walked to the High Septon and the people stepped away from her.

She came before the High Septon and looked up at him. "I am Joan, of the House Targaryen," she announced. "I come to ask the new gods' blessing to ascend the Iron Throne, as requested by my father."

The High Septon was surprised but he was able to ask, "Do you hold the Seven and their faith to be true in your heart?"

"I hold them to be as true as the old gods of the North. I have spent a vigil in the godswood to hear their guidance." While it wasn't the traditional answer one would give, it seemed enough to satisfy the High Septon, if only just, even with the mutterings of disquiet amongst the nobility in the hall.

Ser Barristan himself knew that truthfully Joan didn't hold much stock in the Seven. That was one of the many areas where she differed from her siblings. Seeing her in this Sept, acting like she had come here all the time, it was a little odd for him. And he couldn't have been the only one thinking such. But he kept his silence and watched as she faced the crowd and the High Septon took her crown off an offered pillow.

Barristan had seen the crown as a sketch, months before the king had died. This was a new crown, different from her ancestors. It sported no signs of her Targaryen heritage or that she was the soon-to-be ruler the Seven Kingdoms. It was a simple band of steel with the seven-pointed star of the Faith inlaid in bronze. Inside the star, done in white gold, was a man's face. It was a stern face but also fatherly. There would be another six faces around the band, all inside a seven-pointed star. Some might think it was all done to honor the Seven but he knew the faces were to honor the old gods.

The High Septon held the crown over her head. "I ask the Seven Who Are One to look upon Joan Targaryen. May the Father grant her justice from his scales, so that she may judge all favorably. May the Mother grant her mercy, so that she may treat all the same. May the Maiden grant her love so that she may cherish those she rules. May the Warrior grant her courage, to protect her in the times to come. May the Smith grant her strength, so that she might bear this heavy burden. And may the Crone, she who knows the fate of all men, show her the path she must walk."

He looked out to them all and declared, "In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Joan of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lady of the Seven Kingdoms!" He placed the crown upon her head. "Long may she reign!"

"Long may she reign!" the sept said back.

As the new queen stepped away, the noble lords and ladies came towards her. But she did not stop for them. She walked to the doors, determined to get outside. Barristan and the rest of the Kingsguard moved to the doors and then inwards, helping her reach the door. He and Ser Arthur stayed at the doors. As she approached, they opened them.

The people of King's Landing stood there, waiting for her. Barristan saw how they were watching with expectations. They wanted to see what this new ruler of theirs, a queen of all things, would be. Whatever their expectations might've been, they were overridden by the screeches of three dragons.

Everyone looked to the sky. The three dragons were circling the Great Sept, close enough to cast shadows on the crowds. People saw them, some pointed in wonder, others shouted in fear. The ripple of fear began to spread as the beasts circled closer, descending on the sept.

Joan looked up at them. "Stop." It had barely been shouted, if he'd been any further away he himself probably wouldn't have heard it over the mass of people.

But the dragons somehow did. Fang, Seawing, and Moonfyre came to a halt in midair. The people stopped screaming when they saw. They looked up at the dragons and then at her, stunned wonder in their eyes.

He knew she was a skin changer. It was a tightly guarded secret amongst his brothers and a handful of others close to the family. And he had to wonder if she'd planned this…statement. If she had, who had given her the idea? The princess…queen now he supposed, was notoriously straightforward. To stage something like this would be most unlike her. Someone must have convinced her. Even so, her plan or not, staged or not. The message was clear to both the townsfolk and the high born. The dragons obey just one person.

There was a clap, a slow, cautious thing before the cheers came in a tidal wave, spreading from the back to the front, shaking the air and the courtyard with its noise. They were cheering for her.

"Westeros!" roared Arthur, a horn cutting across the noise. "Who is your queen?"

"JOAN TARGARYEN!" they roared back as one. The dragons screeched again and this time, they roared with them. It was a roar that engulfed them all, maddening their senses, shattering the silence that had been there before. Barristan stood apart from it, not taking part in the celebrations. It was not his place. He was a Kingsguard. It was also why he did not need to look behind him to see the looks on the lords and ladies' faces.

He went to his queen's side. "Your Grace," he said. "If you will wait, we will have a horse ready to take back to the Red Keep." He had ridden his horse to the Great Sept. He would give her his.

"No," she said. "I will walk."

She would walk? Again? "Are you certain?"

"Yes, Ser Barristan." She glanced back at the crowd in the Great Sept. "Aerys. My son. Please, Ser Barristan, bring my son to me."

That he could do. Her son had been there, in the care of Princess Daenerys and Baelor. They stood alongside Daniel, the Lord Sheriff. The princess gave the two-year-old boy to him when asked and he led him out to the steps. The queen took her son in her arms, pressing a kiss to his head. Together they walked down the steps and through the crowd. The Kingsguard followed but the crowd let them pass.

 **Margaery**

(Location: the Red Keep)

Margaery had always been confident about herself. She knew she was beautiful with her family's brown curly hair, her pale smooth skin, and brown eyes that hinted at gold. Even though she loved her father, she knew that he was an oaf. That was why she learned at her grandmother's knee. She thought she knew how to work within the court, how to charm anyone, and make them think they had her favor. When she was brought to the capital the first time, she had thought she would charm the Crown Prince and become his queen.

That didn't happen through no fault of hers. When her father smelled an opportunity to marry into the royal family again, he sent her and her brothers back to King's Landing. That's where she truly met Joan Targaryen. Before, she had thought nothing of the girl. In her eyes, she wasn't worth the trouble of trying to win her over. Looking back, she knew it was arrogance. A mistake she rued still to this day.

Her family had paid for that mistake. The princess led her along, just like Margaery had done to her when they were children, and snapped the trap down around her neck without her even realizing it. Her refusal to marry Willas was a snub and revenge against her.

They left the capital just three days after that. At her grandmother's insistence of course. Her father bemoaned the lost chance to marry into the royal family, her mother was upset that Loras was unable to participate in the tourney, and her grandmother told her that she would have to do better. It was Willas who comforted her. "These things happen, Marge," he told her. "But what will you do because of it?"

Hearing that gave her the resolve to do better. She went back to the capital and became one of Queen Elia's handmaidens. She worked her influence through the ladies and the court. When Joan came back, she felt that her position would protect from whatever she would try to do. But Joan hadn't paid any kind of attention to her, ignoring her completely. Truthfully, that stung worse than her snub.

She tried to not let it affect her. She was a part of the queen's retinue and thus, didn't interact much with the princess. But that all changed when the war came, all three Targaryen heirs from Queen Elia's womb died and then King Rhaegar passed away. Now Joan was anointed queen. The younger ladies who served Queen Elia were given to Joan. Margaery was one of them.

She didn't know what was worse, the fact that she had been given to Queen Joan or the fact that they were never used. The new queen never had _use_ for handmaidens. Either she was busy ruling the kingdoms, overseeing one talk or another, or enjoying time with her son. Her supposed handmaidens were left to do nothing. That was something Margaery would not and could not abide by.

All they had was endless time on their hands and with that much time, all they could do gossip. One of their usual topics was the queen herself. She was a strange person. "Did you hear?" a lady from the Westerlands, probably a lesser Lannister. "The queen has given Summerhall to the Golden Company." The other ladies sitting in the circle gasped in surprise.

Margaery was one of the few who didn't. Instead, she looked more like she was vaguely interested. "Is that so?" she asked.

The girl nodded quickly. "Yes, I heard it from one of the guards who was at court today. He heard the queen proclaim it himself. What's more, he said that the captain-general would have a place on the Small Council."

" _And so it grows,"_ she thought to herself. It seemed like the Small Council could no longer be called that with each new member it gains. That wasn't to say it wasn't a good thing. The Lord Sheriff was proving to be the right man to rule the city, something she never would've thought a tavernkeeper would be able to do.

"That's not all she's done," said a lady from House Blackwood. "I heard that's she destroying the city."

"I heard differently," a Crownlands lady objected. "She's not destroying the city. She's expanding it so more people can live here."

Margaery knew that to be truth. It was a little astounding. Kings rarely wished to alter King's Landing, because each addition had to be something significant enough to live up to those that came before. Maegor had built the Red Keep itself, Baelor his monstrously-sized sept for the Seven, additions to the city needed to leave a mark and leaving a mark was expensive. Rulers didn't like expensive.

One of the younger ladies stopped her sewing and looked around. "Is the queen ever going to come join us?" she asked. Just by that alone, they could tell she was new to the capital and everything that came with it.

Margaery spoke out before the others could mock her. "The queen will join us when she feels so, my lady. She is busy ruling the Seven Kingdoms and much of her time is taken with that." She was open and friendly. It was a way to bring the girl into her fold, gain her trust. "In truth, the queen does not sew unless there is something to be mended."

"Oh, I see."

"Think nothing of it, my lady. You do not know the queen well." None of them knew the queen well. But that was beside the point.

The girl, she looked like she was from the Stormlands, looked at her with a questioning look. "Is it true that the queen hasn't picked a new Hand yet?"

It was the truth. Lord Lonmouth had died a few weeks past and a new Hand hadn't been selected. The Red Keep was filled with gossip and rumors about who it would be. The popular theory was it would be one of the Starks, perhaps Lord Robb. Some had even suggested it would one of the men she fought alongside during the winter, like Sam Tarly. She found that easier to believe. Sam was a kind man, useless with a sword but a mind that could flatten even a knowledgeable maester. He would make a fine Hand if she were any judge.

The door to their room opened and they all looked at it. A woman walked in. She was dressed in leathers with a coat thrown over them. The leathers were plain and travel-worn. But they were fitted to her. The woman herself was tall, easily able to match the height of a man. Her black hair was cut short and her blue eyes looked at them all. Margaery had seen enough of Renly to know this woman had Baratheon blood. "Hello," she said, her voice rough with the accent of the lowborn. "I was told the queen would be here."

They all stared at her. Margery took action. "And you are?"

"Mya Stone."

Distrust settled into the Tyrell. The woman was a bastard and she wanted to see the queen? It was laughable. "And you were asked to come before the queen?" she asked, politely but with a tone that told the bastard she must remember her place.

"Yes, she sent me a raven."

This story was getting more and more laughable by the minute, and it was a struggle for Margery to remember that hard earned lesson, imparted by her mistake so long ago to not dismiss someone because who knew how high they would rise.

She kept her tone polite. "Why would the queen send you a raven?"

The Queen's voice was so unfamiliar in this place Margery almost didn't recognize it before the woman herself entered the room dressed in black and red, almost as simply as the Stone girl. "Mya!" the queen confirmed with a warm smile. "There you are."

It was like she was greeting an old friend. Her smile made her seem different, more open. The bastard looked at her and smiled back at her. "Joan. It's been some time. What am I doing here in King's Landing?"

"Helping me." She looked at the room like it was the first time she had noticed them.

"With what?" The girl asked.

"I'd like you to be my Hand."

"… _What?"_ It honestly took Margaery a couple of moments to understand just what she was hearing. She didn't need to look at the other ladies to know what their expressions would be equally dumbstruck.

Hell. The Stone girl herself looked like she'd just been punched in the face. "Wait, what?!"

"Your Grace," one of the ladies, Lady Bracken she thought, asked, "Are you serious?"

"Of course I'm serious," she said shortly. "I wouldn't have called her from the Vale if I wasn't serious. Come, Mya, let's get you settled in." The girl still looked like she was trying to wrap her head around this, same as all of them and she followed on stiff legs. "Tyrell, walk with us."

It took Margaery a moment to realize that it was her being called. She quickly followed them out of the room. The door closing behind her with a storm of furious whispering and shocked voices. "Your Grace, I must protest," she said immediately. "What does this bastard know about ruling a kingdom?"

Queen Joan looked back at her a glint in her eye. "She is right here, my lady," she said with a growl. "If you wish to talk to her, do so."

A tremor of fear pulled through her stomach at those words, even though she didn't know why. "Joan, stop," Mya said calmly. "She's right. I don't know anything about ruling."

It was something like a miracle. The queen lost her anger instantly. "I know that, Mya. I'm hoping that you'll pick it up as we go. For now, you're here to ensure that I don't go too far."

"You do have that quality about you."

She wasn't insulted by what she was told. She accepted it with a listing jesting manner. The queen was silent for a moment. Then she looked at Margaery. "Lady Tyrell, how well do you know the Reach?"

Was that supposed a trick question or a jape? Margaery almost felt insulted. But she saw how serious the queen was. "Do you mean the land itself or it's lords, your Grace?" she asked.

"Their lords."

"I have met several lords in my years. They know me and know that I represent House Tyrell."

"Good. Now you'll represent the Reach."

She didn't know what that meant. "I beg your pardon, but what does that mean, your Grace?"

"It means that you will be a part of the Small Council as a representative of the Reach. I mean to have a representative from each of the kingdoms. You're the first."

It was news that would've made Grandmother say something about the queen. It left her surprised. She wondered why it was her instead of her brothers. Willas was already in the city and on the Small Council. "Why me?" she dared to ask. "I thought that you…hated me, your Grace." That was the best word she had to describe it.

"I don't have time for hate. It's too trivial."

It wasn't a forgiveness. It was more of dismissal really, if it could be called that. Regardless of what it was, there was no way she could refuse it. She was here to bring influence to her family. Being on the Small Council alongside her brother would make the Reach even more influential. "I thank you for the honor, your Grace," she said. "I will notify my brother and father about the position."

"If you wish to do so," she said absently. "But you are to stand for the Reach, not your own house." She walked off with her new Hand.

Margaery watched them walk off. It reminded her about how her father told her about the failed rebellion, how Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon had fought to overthrow the Mad King. Now, she saw Lord Stark's niece and who she could only assume was Robert's bastard walking off, about to rule Westeros.

But then a second thought came to her. It wasn't the rebel lords walking off. Instead, her mind went back to history, when Aegon the Conqueror forged Westeros into his rule. His first Hand, the man who established the position, was his supposed bastard brother, Orys Baratheon. Watching them leave, she wondered if they knew of the similarities.

 **Alliser**

(Location: King's Landing)

Ser Alliser Thorne had been a gold cloak in King's Landing for a long time. He had served during the rebellion, the years after, and the long winter. In his mind, he had served well and with due diligence, nothing to be praised about. And yet, the Lord Sheriff had decided he would be the new Commander of the Watch, a decision that had been backed by the queen.

Being elevated to such a status also meant that he would attend court. It was there that he witnessed Queen Joan Targaryen wield her power. He had heard her first proclamation was that she wanted "Shovels and ploughs, not swords and spears." She wanted to build new roads, expand the boundaries of King's Landing, give the smallfolk more rights (which he felt was a little ridiculous but it wasn't his place to say so), and above all else, have peace in the realm.

That being said, she would do what it took to keep that peace. That was why he stood in court and watched both Lord Blackwood and Lord Bracken stand before the Iron Throne. If things got out of hand he had over a hundred men waiting nearby. Neither lord spoke. They stood silently and waited. Alliser could tell by their standing they both thought they were in the right.

The queen did not favor either. She sat on the Iron Throne and the only symbol of her royalty was her crown. Her clothes were finely made of course, but simple as was her custom. "My lords," she began, "I have heard that your feud has begun again. I will not ask the cause for it because it does not matter."

"Your Grace," Lord Blackwood began

"Did I say you could speak?" she asked, shutting him up. She looked at them both. "I do not care for your reasons, my lords. I fought alongside your eldest son, Lord Blackwood, and your nephew, Lord Bracken, in the Long Night. I know that they would be disappointed in what has happened. They had made peace before they died and you spit on their graves with this foolishness."

Both men stood stiff, clearly not liking the chastisement. "I do not care for your feud, my lords. And since you cannot take it upon yourselves to end it, I am forced to do it myself." She gestured to her Hand, the bastard daughter of Robert Baratheon of all people. She walked to them and held out a coin. Alliser saw it was a common star, rather used too.

Both the lords looked at the coin, and then at the queen. "Your Grace, what is the meaning of this?" Lord Bracken asked.

"This is my judgement, my lord," she replied. "You will each pick a side of the coin and then my Hand will flip it. Whoever's side doesn't land in her hand, their house will be slaughtered, to the last child."

The silence was so sudden, it was as though everyone in the room had fallen dead.

Alliser was shocked, as was the court. She sounded…well…like Aerys. Mad. The lords themselves looked pale, to escalate a feud that, ultimately, risked none of their family to something that could wipe their entire house was not something they'd foreseen.

"Don't try your luck yet, my lords," Queen Joan continued. "He who loses shall have his house killed, yes. But the house that wins shall be exiled, stripped of their lands and their heritage, never to be welcomed in Westeros again."

Alliser looked to the Lord Sheriff, to the Small Council, even to Ser Arthur Dayne to see if they would stop this madness. But they did not do anything. They stood in place and watched silently. "Your Grace!" Lord Bracken exclaimed. "You cannot be serious! What you're offering is…is…"

"Death or exile," she finished for him. Alliser saw the look on her face. It would broker no argument. "Yes, my lords. I know exactly what I'm offering you. They say that when a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin." She pointed a finger at her Hand. "My coin is there, my lords, and it will cast judgement on you. Now, pick a side."

Lord Bracken and Blackwood stared at the coin with horrified eyes. Alliser watched silently but he felt worried. Was this going to be another era of madness from the dragons? Had the coin fallen wrong for her? The lords turned their eyes from the coin to her. "Your Grace," said Lord Blackwood. "Please—"

"Choose, my lord."

"You can't blame our children for what we have done," Lord Bracken protested. "This is...!" He stopped himself from saying it, if only just.

She looked him in the eyes. He fell silent under that gaze. "Do you think that I want to do this, my lord? You have given me no other choice. I made a promise to make Westeros a place where the world could look at and see honor and respect. That cannot happen when two of my vassals argue over a petty feud like two children fighting over a toy." She fell silent and it was like the entire court held her breath.

"But perhaps…" she began offering a glimmer of hope to the floundering nobles. "I can be merciful. It will require something from you."

"Anything, your Grace," said Lord Blackwood. "We will give anything you want." Lord Bracken nodded heartily in agreement.

"Good. Then consider your feud dead and buried, never to be brought up again. You will make peace with each other and it will be a permanent peace. Your son Lucas, Lord Blackwood, will marry Lord Bracken's daughter Barbara, to signify this peace. They shall inherit the lands that are in dispute between you." Her eyes hardened. "Make no mistake, my lords. This will be a permanent peace. If I hear of the feud spilling fresh blood again, you will be summoned to King's Landing and you will be forced to pick a side of the coin."

No one said a word but Alliser could feel the air had relaxed. People were glad that they wouldn't have watch something horrible. Lords Blackwood and Bracken didn't look happy but they agreed to her terms all the same. He looked at the now to-be married couple. They weren't surprised at what just happened. If anything, they looked happy.

A thought came to him. They had been in King's Landing before their fathers had been summoned to court. _"Did they have something to do with this?"_ he wondered. He dismissed it immediately. Even if they did, it was not his place.

The two lords left and a Braavosi came forward, dressed in rich purple. "Your Grace, I am Luco Fregar of Braavos," he announced. "I have come before you and ask a request from you."

"What request?" the queen asked him.

"I am an architect of some renown in my home city. When I heard that you were expanding the city, I saw a chance to build a theater. I asked that I be allowed to build it."

Alliser scoffed in silent scorn. Why did they need a theater? There were mummers enough. They didn't need to some place to be where they could stay. _"They should find proper jobs,"_ he thought to himself.

But the queen thought differently. "I will grant your request, ser. If your theater is successful, perhaps you will find more opportunities here in Westeros. You will of course, have to confer directly with the lord leading the efforts, Tyrion Lannister, and pay all the due fees required by law to secure a section of the expansion to call your own." The Braavosi smiled in thanks and stepped away. She looked to the court, her face serious once more. "My lords and ladies, I must end this court in a somber note. We have received word that Balon Greyjoy will soon be dead. Once he is, there is no doubt that the ironborn will attempt to crown a king and raid the mainland once more."

The court was troubled. Alliser knew it because he was troubled too. During the winter, the ironmen took what chances they could to sack and raid the Reach and the Westerlands. They were minor events but he heard talk it would be the start of a second Greyjoy Rebellion. Nothing had happened so far but if there was a new healthy and hale Lord of Pyke, eager to make a name for himself, it would change.

Lady Margaery stepped forward. "Your Grace, I shall send word to the Reach at once. We shall prepare for any invasion from the ironmen," she proclaimed for all to hear. Her words were met with approval from the court.

"A wise course," the queen agreed, "but hopefully unnecessary. I intend to go to the Iron Islands and deal with this matter myself."

 **Asha**

(Location: Old Wyk)

When Balon Greyjoy had died, Asha's Uncle Aeron called for a kingsmoot. She had gone there to win it become the ruler of the Iron Islands. The problem was so did several other lords, not to mention her own uncles. She knew that she could hold her own against Victarian but Euron was unexpected. He had returned the day after her father had died and it made her wonder.

But wondering would do her no good here on Nagga's hill. She watched her uncle sway the ironborn with his promises of taking all of Westeros and binding the dragons to his will. They had all heard the horn blown before he made his appearance. It was a sound that filled their ears with pain. But he claimed that with it, he would take the dragons and take Westeros too.

The captains and lords all chanted "Euron!" Each time the name was said, it grew louder. She watched her uncle win the kingsmoot. But then, a voice rang out. "The Seastone Chair does not belong to you, Euron Greyjoy!"

Asha turned her head down the hill. The dragon queen herself walked up its steps. Four Kingsguard followed behind. To Asha's surprise, her brother walked beside her. Theon had been sent to live with House Stark after the rebellion. He had come back to the islands dressed in silk and velvet, acting like a green lander. Their father and uncles mocked him for it, deriding anything he could've done as weak. She had done the same because she remembered a little boy who had been proud to be an ironborn.

He hated being on the islands, they all knew it. He left for the North when Aegon Targaryen called for aid. That had been more than ten years ago. The man who came up the hill was much different than the boy she saw last. A patch covered his right eye but it didn't cover the scar pulling at his lips, making him look like he was sneering all the time. He wore boiled leather and chain mail, all under a sea coat like hers. His hair had been cut down to a buzz, showing the scars that laced his head. His uncovered eye was different too. It was serious, taking in everything as a possible threat.

The queen herself was not what Asha had expected. She carried no weapons, wore no crown, and did not bedeck herself in finery. She was dressed much like Asha was, in clothes that were suited for life on a ship. Her grey eyes were serious and resolute. They looked at everyone on that hill.

Euron smiled as he looked at her. "It seems that I would not have to go far for my wife," he proclaimed. "She has come to me."

The dragon queen said, "I can't imagine any woman who would go to you willingly." The utter scorn in her voice was hard to miss. "You delude yourself, Euron Greyjoy, if you think I came for you." She turned around, dismissing him entirely. She looked at the hill. "I am Joan Targaryen, and I claim the Seastone Chair!"

Everyone on Nagga's hill was struck by her words, none more so than Asha. She had laid her claim down because she was Balon's daughter and an ironborn. The dragon queen was neither and yet she dared to do this? Protests and objections rose up instantly. She didn't respond, choosing to wait. None of her party moved.

Aeron quieted the protestors and looked at her. "What do you offer?" he asked. A claimant had to offer some kind of treasure before the captains.

"I offer nothing," she said. "Because I see nothing worth being offered to." She gave the hill a scathing look. "People speak of the ironborn in fear but also in scorn. I can see why. What are the ironborn but a group of scavengers clinging to a clump of rocks in the sea? All you do is steal from others too weak to protect themselves and cower when those strong enough to fight back come for you."

Asha wanted to bury her axe in her head. It was tempting, the green lander wore no armor or carried weapons, But Theon did and so did the Kingsguard. They would protect her if things turned into a fight. She didn't have to look at the other captains and men to know they heard her words and were maddened by them.

The dragon queen saw them. "Did I insult you? Offend some kind of pride you have?" she asked. "I am amazed that the ironborn would have any kind of pride at all when all you do is steal from others." She gestured at Crow's Eye dismissively. "He claims he would have you conquer Westeros, but only through taking the dragons and marrying me, not by his own hand or blade. What does that say of the ironborn?"

Aeron looked furious. "If you mean to mock us, then leave!" he ordered. "Go back to your green lands, where there is food and gold aplenty!"

She did not move. She looked at him. "I do not mock you so freely, Aeron Greyjoy. I do it to prove what is wrong about the ironborn." She looked at the men on the hill again. The scorn in her eyes was gone now. "I do not offer you treasures. I offer you a challenge. I offer you something else, something new. I will take the Seastone Chair and I will tell you to explore."

"Explore? Why the fuck should we do that?" someone shouted.

"Because the world is unfinished." She pointed to the west and to the south. "Do you know what lies out there? I don't. I would like to see what is there but I can't go there. I need people to go there, see what there is, and bring back what is there. Who else would I look to but the ironborn?" she asked, looking at them all. "Would you do it?"

"Why should we go for some uncertain waters?" Asha asked her. It wasn't a challenge. She wanted to hear what the dragon queen had to say. But it was taken as such. Other captains and men began shouting the same, calling upon the Old Way.

She said, "The Old Way is just that, old. What I offer you is a new way. Leave what you know and explore the unknown. I want you to sail the strange seas and find new lands. I want you to bring back what these new lands have to offer, their gifts and their knowledge. Make no mistake, you will have to pay a price. But it is not the iron price you so love. It is something much more than that."

What could've been more than the iron price? Asha looked at her men. They were wondering the same thing. So were her uncles, with the exception of Crow's Eye. Euron looked both angry and interested at what was happening. Victarian was silent but he watched the kingsmoot with sharp eyes. Aeron looked like he was about to have a religious fit or something.

The dragon queen held up her hand. "You will pay the same price I pay: the blood price. Do you think because I am the queen, I sit in idle luxury and let others rule for me? No. I work every day to achieve what I want for Westeros. It is hard, it is tiring, and there are days where it doesn't seem to fucking work. But when I'm done, I can look at what I've done and know I did that." She lowered her hand and looked at the hill. "Can you do the same? Can the ironborn be the ones who fill out the map of the world? If you know you can, if you are the seamen you claim to be, then name me your queen!"

There wasn't even a moment of silence before the entire hill roared "JOAN! JOAN! JOAN QUEEN!" Asha was one of two who were silent. The other was Euron. He had lost his amusement and now just look furious.

* * *

Later, when the dragon queen had been anointed and crowned, Asha was summoned before her. She strode into a tent at the beach. It was furnished with common furniture and trappings. Her new queen sat at a desk, looking over papers. She glanced up. "Ah, Theon's sister. Asha, correct?"

"Aye, that's me," she said, striding over to the chair in front of the desk. She sat down and lounged in it. "What is you want?"

"I will be heading back to the mainland tomorrow. I thought we should meet before I left, so I could get to know my Lady of the Iron Islands."

She froze in that chair. "What?" She looked at the woman. She wasn't japing. "You're making me rule these islands?"

"Why wouldn't I? Your family has been doing that since Aegon the Conqueror. I came to take the crown to prevent any kind of rebellion from arising."

She understood that and could applaud it. But there was one thing she didn't see. "Why not my brother? Clearly you know him."

"Theon will come back to King's Landing with me. He'll represent the Iron Islands on my council. Expect a lot of ravens from him," she added, like it was just an afterthought. She turned her attention back to the papers on the desk.

Asha was shocked. She hadn't expected this. But she saw a problem. "My uncles will not like this."

"Aeron and Victarian are traditionalists," the queen said. "They might not like it, but they will follow you if you provide good leadership."

"Euron isn't a traditionalist. He came here with a plan to take your dragons and marry you." She had a feeling if it had happened like that, the green land prince would soon have a tragic accident. She also knew that her uncle would not give up because he lost.

The dragon queen seemed unconcerned. "Your uncle is not going to be much of a problem."

She laughed at her naivety. "You don't know him that well."

"No, I've been informed about him." She looked up from the papers. "I was informed about his horn before I came here. Why do you think there are no dragons in the sky?"

She realized she was right. She could've tried to use the dragons to make the ironborn submit. That was what her uncle would've wanted. By leaving them behind, she kept them safe from her. The tent flap opened and Theon stepped inside. "He's here," he said.

"Send him in."

Asha turned her head to see who they were talking about. A tall man in armor walked in, carrying something in his hand. The burns on his face were extensive. Where there wasn't blackened flesh, there was oozing redness. She looked at him and would've sworn she saw bone on his jaw.

"Sandor Clegane," said the dragon queen to the man. "You have news."

He nodded and threw a strip of cloth on the table. "It's done," he growled.

"And your reward?"

He smiled darkly. "I took it."

"Thank you, Clegane. You have done me good service." He didn't say anything to that, choosing to leave the tent just as quickly as he came into it.

Asha looked at the cloth. She recognized it. "That's Euron's eyepatch."

The dragon queen glanced at it. "It is." She looked at Asha. "While we were at the kingsmoot, Sandor and some handpicked men rowed themselves over to the _Silence_ so they could scuttle it. When your uncle went to go back to it, all he would've found was a wreck and a sword to meet him. And I can tell by the eyepatch that he didn't survive the meeting."

"You had him killed?" She shouldn't have been surprised at that. In fact, she should've been more surprised at the fact she had planned something like this before even coming to the islands.

"No, of course not," she said with a straight face. "Euron Greyjoy died when he tried to set sail aboard his ship and it sank mysteriously. Perhaps the Drowned God was displeased with how he tried to win and claimed his soul for it." She looked Asha in the eyes. "Unless, you think it happened differently?"

Asha looked at her and felt uncertain. She had a feeling that she wasn't just looking at a human now. She was also looking at a wolf. A wolf waiting for her to say the wrong thing so she could attack her, tear her to bloody pieces. This woman had given her the Iron Islands. She could take them right back. "No, that's what happened."

"I'm glad we agree. The Islands are going to change, Asha. I hope that you will be there to help change them." She didn't make it sound like a threat or a warning. But Asha had a feeling it was there somewhere in the words. "We'll talk later."

It was a dismissal and she took it. As she walked out of the tent, she walked past Theon. "Do you need me, your Grace?" he asked.

"No," the dragon queen said.

"Then I will leave with my sister. It's probably time we talked again." With a nod, he followed her out of the tent.

They walked across the beach in silence, at least until they left the royal camp. "You've changed," Asha said to him. It was the first thing that came to her.

"Aye, for the better," he agreed. "You've stayed the same."

He was certainly insulting her. She found herself smiling because of it. Perhaps they would have a better bond than they did when he came back the first time. "You got into the queen's good graces. What did you do, fuck her?"

"I'd be dead if I had," he said with complete honesty. But there was something else to his voice, a wistful longing. Did he actually love her? "If Prince Aegon hadn't killed me, their sisters would've gotten to me first."

"So what did you do?"

"She challenged me to an archery contest."

"Did you win?" He smiled and said nothing else about it. No matter how much she prodded him about it, he wouldn't say anything.

 **Bran**

(Location: King's Landing)

Joan wasn't the same girl Bran knew in Winterfell. Then again, he wasn't the same boy she had known. When he had come of age, he had gone to the Wall to fight, the same as Father and Robb. He had fought for only a year before the war ended and he felt the sun's light on his face.

But he felt like he had changed in that year. Things certainly did. Robb had become Lord of Winterfell after Father had died in battle. Uncle Edmure had died too and so Bran had to become Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident.

Father had raised him to do his duty. It was why he stood in the Iron Throne's court. Called to serve. Most days were boring affairs. Even the days where Joan held open court for the smallfolk to approach were rather banal. But today was different, there was a man before the throne, draped in the robes of a maester. He seemed unassuming and rather like someone's kind faced uncle. Young, unlike most maesters, or at least _younger_ than most maesters. Perhaps just a few years older than Bran himself.

Bran kept glancing up at Joan. She looked every bit the Queen dressed in a black dress with hints of red. It was different from what he was used to seeing her in. "What brings you before the Iron Throne?" she asked.

"Your Grace." The maester bowed. "My name is Harwin. I was a maester in training in Oldtown."

"Was?" she asked, head leaning down to rest against her fist.

The man nodded. "Yes, your Grace. I am afraid the old maesters of the Citadel and myself do not see eye to eye. I have come to King's Landing hoping you might think differently."

"Your Grace," the Grand Maester, for the first time since Bran had been here, stood up and spoke, drawing all eyes to him. "I remember word of this young man. A mind poisoned young by the ideas of a man named Qyburn. His research was monstrous, his—"

"His methods," the younger man spoke over the Grand Maester, his voice bouncing off the walls, "are not my own. But my old teacher did hold ideas that would further our knowledge. Not merely…recycle it."

Joan held up her hand forestalling the protest of the Grand Maester. "What exactly is it that you've come here for specifically, Maester Harwin?"

Bran mentally corrected that he wasn't a maester. No chain. But he held his silence. "For years the maesters have been following the same methods, coming to the same results. I wish to find a different method, a different answer. Grant me what resources you see fit my queen, and I will devote all my days to broadening our knowledge of the world, the body and the minds of men." He boldly looked up at her.

"You want a sponsor."

"In simple terms," Harwin shrugged, "Yes, your Grace. The Citadel of Oldtown is content to preserve and re-use. But they do not have the gumption to _search_ for new questions and even better answers. In exchange for your support, everything I discover I will lay at your feet. To use as the Crown wills."

"I see."

Bran was quiet, watching as Joan mulled the thought over, he could see it bouncing around her head, and could hear the whispers of incredulity from some of the nobles mixed with general curiosity.

"You said earlier that you have studied the mind, yes?" The question confused him. Bran didn't know why she would ask something like that. The mind was the mind. There was nothing to ponder about it.

But Harwin nodded. "I have. It is an interesting thing, the mind. It controls absolutely everything of the body, but the body can affect the health of the mind oh yes—" He sounded like he enjoyed what he talked about.

Joan nodded, cutting him off. "Then I will grant your request, Harwin. One year." She held up a single finger. "I shall grant you one year to work as you see fit. You will serve the Crown with your works. And the first of these works, will be this task—"

"Name it, your Grace!" the man said with an eager pitch in his voice.

"Discover the reasons for the Targaryen madness. I wish to know the real reasons for it, not that it's because the gods are punishing my house."

One could have heard a pin drop. Harwin's smile could have split his face in two. "I understand perfectly, your Grace."

" _Really?"_ Bran thought. He looked up at his cousin, trying to understand what had just happened. And why. She'd already declared that the incestuous marriages would never happen again. So the point seemed rather moot. A waste of time and money. Curious.

He kept that curiosity for the rest of the day, right up until the dinner with Joan. It was a private dinner, between family members. Prince Aerys had dined earlier and had already gone to bed. Bran didn't say much as he ate he hardly ever did. Age had mellowed the little boy that spent his days climbing castle walls. Now it was not uncommon to find him sitting for hours at the foot of trees, utterly still.

She knew there was something on his mind. "Do you have something to say, Bran?" she asked him.

He placed his spoon down. "It's about the man, the maester that came to you today. I was wondering why you asked what you did."

"Curiosity. Prevention." She shrugged, "Take your pick."

He knew that tone. It made him smile a bit. She'd used the same tone when he'd asked her for advice just three years ago. When Walder Frey finally died, House Frey had torn itself apart with the fighting. Even with clear laws of succession when you had a family as extensive and weaselly as the Frey's backstabbing was going to happen.

He'd asked Joan for troops to quell the infighting, she had told him to wait. When he asked why, that tone of hers had come out. It told him she had an idea. When a new Lord of the Crossing was finally seated and the fighting was done, the house was weakened and she sent him a raven. It read "Shovels and stones can work better than swords."

It was brazen. He'd thought of it himself, of course. But he wasn't sure if the crown would back him. While he was the Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, many of his bannermen saw him as little more than a Stark in Tully clothes. Without her backing he might not last long.

But with that tacit endorsement of his plan, he got to work. He had roads extended and bridges built on the Trident, north and south of the Twins, finally breaking the stranglehold the Frey's had held over the crossing for generations. They weren't happy but there wasn't really anything they could do. The rest of the Riverlands loved him for it.

He took a breath. "You were never one for idle curiosity."

"I wear a crown. It changes people."

"Those changes the same reason why you refused Steffon a place in the Kingsguard?" Arya's second son was a promising squire. He was good with a sword and a lance, honorable and chivalrous. Everyone had thought that he would be a good Kingsguard when the time came, only for Joan to tell him to his face it would never happen. They were all shocked, none more so than Steffon. Bran could still see the look of crushed hope on his nephew's face.

Joan fell silent again. There was an emotion in her eyes he was a little surprised to see: sadness. "No," she said. "I know Steffon wished to be a Kingsguard, just as I know Gendry and Arya would've been proud of him if he had. But… he deserves better." He didn't know what she meant by those words. But there something about them that felt different. What that was, he didn't know.

 **Jaime**

(Location: Braavos)

He remembered the time when he had been the youngest of the Kingsguard, a boy of only fifteen years. Back then, he had only seen the glory of being a Kingsguard. Then he saw the horrors and thought there was nothing he could do. When Rhaegar Targaryen returned from the Trident, Aerys had thought in his madness that he had betrayed him. The Mad King had been ready to burn the city to the ground, until Jaime held his sword to his throat and ordered him to open the gates. None of his brothers had said anything about what he did. He was never sure if that was worse than them saying anything.

Those were the days of his youth. Now, with his golden hair growing grey and years of experience wearing on his shoulders and face, people called him the Last Kingsguard. It was true. Ever since his brothers began to die, the queen did not replace them. She did not hide her intentions from him. In fact, she had told him that when the Kingsguard would change, to become an order of spies. In her words, they would protect Westeros where no one would see them.

It wasn't what he thought the Kingsguard should be but he knew that the queen thought the times were changing. That meant things had to change too. She didn't dismiss him from her service to start her change. It was why he was here, in Braavos, following Prince Aerys and Baelor through the streets. The cousins were as close as brothers.

They were making their way through an alley. The sun had set nearly an hour ago. Jaime had heard about the dangers of walking around at night in Braavos. The princes were on their way to a tavern they had found the first night and kept going to it every night.

This night, they came across a duel between bravos. It happened in a small canal off the alley and had attracted a small crowd. The two bravos were clad in outrageous colors, to Jaime's eyes at least. Really, who wore green with silver or orange with brown? But in spite of their clothes, they handled their swords competently. There was a lot more showing off than he would've used. It was liable to get one of them killed.

And it did. As the brown bravo fell with a slit belly, the green bravo pranced around to the applause of the crowd. Jaime restrained the urge to snort. Prince Baelor saw the look on his face. "A good fight, Ser Jaime?" he asked.

"If Ser Barristan had seen that fight, he would've stopped the duel and taken both those fools to task for such stupidity." It seemed like only now that he knew what his old Lord Commander felt when he first took the white cloak. It almost made him glad he didn't have to go through the same headache himself.

Prince Aerys looked as if he couldn't believe what he heard. "Come now, Ser Jaime. Can you deny that was superb fighting?" he asked.

If he hadn't been asked by the princes to be honest with them if they asked a question, his answer might've been different. "It was pandering to the crowd, your Highness. That is not what swordsmanship is about. You should only have a sword in your hand if you must defend yourself." He took notice of the other bravos around the canal. The princes did not wear swords but kept a dagger out of sight. They weren't being stared at, though. He was. They saw his sword.

One of them started for him. "I think you have a challenger, Ser Jaime," Prince Baelor remarked. His tone might've been light but Jaime saw his hands slowly falling to his sides. His cousin was doing the same thing. They would reach for their daggers next.

He wasn't going to let that happen. "I have no such thing," he said loudly. He looked at the princes, turning his head away from the approaching bravo. "Your Highnesses, wasn't there a tavern we were to be going to?"

Prince Aerys nodded. "Yes, there was."

They turned their backs on the canal and walked away. "Halt!" a young voice shouted behind them.

Jaime looked back. It was the bravo, clad in red and purple. He had an arrogant look to his face. Prince Aerys stepped forward to him with a smile. "Hello there, friend," he said. Jaime's father might've thought the prince too much like his own father, always eager to make new friends. He personally thought it was a trait he got from his father, Prince Aegon.

The bravo ignored him, keeping his eyes on Jaime. "I have a question for you," he said. "Who is the most beautiful woman in the world?"

He looked at the boy and saw Loras Tyrell again. No, not Loras. He saw himself in that arrogant face. "You waste my time with such a foolish question?" he asked back.

"You carry a sword. I think you have skill with it." The arrogance came off him in waves.

He let his hand fall to the sword's hilt. The bravo tensed, ready for the fight he thought was coming. "You're right, I do have skill with my sword," he told him. "But you are not worth the skill or my time." He turned his back once more and looked to the princes. They didn't need any more prompting.

Prince Aerys was thoughtful as they walked. "In spite of what you've said, Ser Jaime, I think there is something that could be done about bravo blades."

His cousin snorted. "Give me a good longsword any day, coz. They would shatter one of the blades easily."

"If they could touch the blade. A bravo's blade seems to be smaller, lighter. In the right hands, a longsword would have a hard time matching one of them."

"Even if that happened, it wouldn't do anything against steel armor." He looked back at Jaime. "Am I right, Ser Jaime?"

"Aye, for the most part." He was experienced enough to know that all it would take a stab in the right chink of armor to kill someone.

They came out of the alley and saw a familiar looking dock. It was familiar because Jaime had seen it before the princes found the tavern. That meant they were getting close. Prince Baelor stopped and looked at the dock, at the ships resting on the quiet water. It was a wistful look, full of longing. "My time as captain of my own ship cannot come soon enough," he declared.

Had Jaime not known the prince had been sent to Pyke to foster, after learning how to sail from Theon Greyjoy, he might've thought that declaration odd. But he knew Baelor had thrived under Greyjoy's tutelage and loved going out to sea. "What will you do when you become captain?" Aerys asked.

"What the queen mandated: explore the world. Of course, I'll have to bring treasures back with me." He looked at his cousin with an inviting grin. "You would be welcome to join my crew, Aerys."

"You've been making that offer ever since you told me you'd be a captain," the crown prince told him.

"And you've always said no for the same reason." It was a reason Jaime knew well. Both the princes knew it too. Prince Aerys was the heir to the Iron Throne. He couldn't just go off and explore the world, not when he was still learning how to rule from his mother and his teachers.

The prince gave him an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Baelor. I have duties."

Baelor didn't argue with him. It would be an argument he'd lose. "Come on," he said, throwing his arm over his cousin's shoulder and pulling him away from the dock. "Let's go find that tavern so I can get you drunk and miss your sweetheart." Jaime followed behind, silent but listening.

He groaned. "I wish I hadn't told you about that."

"Just be glad only the family knows about it and not Westeros. Otherwise all the lords would be up in flames." Jaime knew what he meant and smiled to himself as he followed. It was common knowledge amongst the royal family and their closest confidants that Prince Aerys had fallen in love with a wildling girl when he was sent to foster at Hardhome. The queen herself had remarked if he wasn't going to steal her, she would steal him.

* * *

The next day, Jaime sat in a boat with the queen. They had just left the talks with the Iron Bank and the Sealord. The queen seemed to be in a good mood, so he had to assume that the talks were going well. "How is my son, Ser Jaime?" she asked him.

He looked at her. Despite her fifteen years on the Iron Throne, it showed only in strands of grey hair. She did not hide the grey but wore it with pride and elegance women her age would try to hide. She looked her age without shame but he could still remember her when she had been a young girl, happy for the love given to her.

"He is well, your Grace," he told her.

"Is he getting into trouble while in Braavos?"

"None that should concern you." That was the closest he could say to the truth without telling her what the princes did. She didn't need to know that the princes were involved in a tavern brawl, one they might've started.

She looked at him with those Stark grey eyes. "Should I be concerned that you've now said that?"

"No. How goes the talks?"

"They go well. The Sealord is inclined to the idea and the Iron Bank is willing to consider helping establish our own bank in Westeros."

"With a percentage to their own bank?"

She didn't smile, exactly. He could see it in her eyes. "That's the belief, yes." She didn't say it was their belief. She didn't have to.

That was another thing that set Queen Joan apart from her father. King Rhaegar was a good ruler and so was she. But she was not above using underhanded methods to get necessary results. He was fairly certain that she had done it when his father had passed away, ten years ago. She, the three dragons, and a small part of the court had come to the Westerlands not to mourn Tywin Lannister's passing (if she was a crasser person, Jaime would've believed she'd thrown a feast to celebrate the fact), but rather to ensure the transfer of lordship went smoothly.

It was no secret that Tywin had always considered Jaime to be his heir even after he joined the Kingsguard. But when his last will and had been read, it clearly stated Tyrion to be his heir. There had been protests and objections but the will was authentic and clear. Tyrion had installed as Lord of Casterly Rock.

Jaime had long since suspected the queen somehow got her hands on his father's will and changed it. Perhaps she had spies in place. Perhaps it had been Varys. He didn't accuse her of anything, mostly because he couldn't prove anything. It was the right choice in the end (although he did take offense at the queen telling his sister, in her own words, to "Shut your useless hole of a mouth"). Tyrion ruled the Westerlands well and Jamie did what he did best: being a Kingsguard.

But being a Kingsguard did not mean he was ready to walk into an infamous house of Braavos. As he stared at the House of Black and White, he felt an uncertain feeling pass through him. He knew of the Faceless Men. He just never thought he would go into their temple. But his queen walked up those steps, carrying the sack she had since this morning. He followed.

The doors opened when she knocked. They walked in and those same doors closed behind them, pulling the light away. The only light he could see were from the candles illuminating the statues. And they were strange statues. One was a crying woman, one was a man with a lion's head, another was the Stranger. There was a pool in the middle of the room, filled with water. It was dark, barely able to reflect the candles' light.

"What would have me do, your Grace?" he asked her.

"Stand vigil, Ser Jaime," she told him. "We will not be here long."

She walked over to the Stranger. She lit three candles before him. As their smoke rose, she closed her eyes and bowed her head. Jaime remembered what today was. It was the day the war ended, when spring had returned. The queen had always chosen to remember that day for the lives that were lost, especially her family.

He didn't notice the old man until he walked up to the queen. "Curious," he said. He looked kindly, like a man who would help people lost in the city. The mere fact he was here made Jaime concerned.

The queen looked at him with no fear. "What is curious?"

"Many have come to the House of Black and White to seek the gift. Either for them or for others. But not you. A woman lights only candles and prays. She does not seek the gift. Curious."

"Is it so curious that a woman would offer a prayer to the dead, to know if they are well?" she asked him.

"In a temple, yes. Few have done that here."

She looked around the hall. "I would call this a temple. Here, I would say that the dead hear me the best." She looked back at the man. "Although I wouldn't say what you give is a gift."

"All men receive it someday. Why would that not be a gift?"

"I call it the end. Life itself is the gift." She didn't accuse the man with her words. "You say valar morghūlis. I say valar glaesis." Jaime did not know much Valyrian so he did not know what the queen had said. But she said it with conviction.

"Interesting," the man said. "But was your only reason to come here to discuss the gift?"

She shook her head. "No."

"You wish for someone to receive the gift?"

"No." She reached for the sack and undid its strings. "I came to offer you this."

Jaime could only gape in surprise as she held out a dragon egg to the man. It wasn't just any egg, though. It was the same egg the royal family had tried to hatch for her all those years ago. When Prince Aerys had been born, people would assume the egg would hatch for him but it never did.

The old man looked at the egg and Jaime would've sworn there was a surprised look in his eyes. "Why does a woman offer such a thing?"

"Who better a people with no names to hide something away?" she asked him. "Hide it or destroy it, I don't care which. There are enough dragons in the world."

" _Enough?"_ Jaime thought. _"There are only three."_ What would happen to those dragons once she died? Her family would tear each other apart trying to claim them and the Iron Throne. It would be another Dance of the Dragons. But then he remembered what the queen was trying to do.

In her own words, Aegon the Conqueror had bullied Westeros into making him its king and he did it with dragons. Queen Joan was trying to create a world where she or her house wouldn't need the threat of dragons. The laws she had written or brought back with often enforced with the threat of the dragons, though. She had said she had written the laws not for the current lords but for their grandchildren and their children. She made it sound like she would be around for a long time, and he didn't doubt that.

The old man eyed the egg for a long moment. He reached out with a single hand and took it. The egg disappeared into the folds of his robe. "A man will do as a queen asks." It was the only thing he said before turning away but Jaime thought he heard a tone of respect in his voice. Jaime tried to watch him but he vanished like he had disappeared.

The queen picked up the sack and walked back to the door. "Come, Ser Jaime," she told him. "We are finished here." She walked out the door into the daylight. He was right behind her.

"Your Grace," he asked as they walked down the steps, "what were those words you said?"

"All men must live," she answered, her eyes forward.

 **Hal**

(Location: King's Landing)

He smiled as the crowd roared their approval. The play was success and the Hand's Men were taking in the bows. Hal wasn't a part of the group on stage but it was his play they had performed here, in the Gem theater.

"Where's Hal?" roared Joss as the thespians came off the stage to the back room. He hated the word mummer, claiming that was not who they were.

Hal came forward to meet him. "I'm here, Joss." He was smaller than the company's leader, but only by a few inches.

It was enough for him to grab him and lift him in a big hug. "Have you got any more of those plays, you brilliant fucker?" he demanded. "Tonight was a success! We need to have more!"

He did his best to get out of the hug. They were men, for fuck's sake. They don't need to hug that much. "There are a few. Some comedies and a tragedy."

"Forget about the tragedy. We need more comedies!" he ordered.

Hal didn't think that. The audiences could use more tragedies, something to make them think. But Joss wouldn't believe that. He would shout at Hal and then ignore him until he was needed again. He would like to keep this job with the group. It was a good one.

Sweet Sam came barreling in from the other side. His thin face was sweating and his eyes bugged out of their sockets. "Joss!" he shouted. "Viserys's outside!"

Everyone knew who Viserys was. The second son of Prince Aerys was a friend of theirs, even joining them in one of their plays at times. Hal wondered why Sweet Sam shouted the news. Viserys came in when he pleased. "Why's that so important, Sam?" Joss demanded.

"His grandmother is with him!"

They all froze. Hal saw many looks of panic and horror spread through the group. "The queen?" Mac, another thespian, asked. "Oh fuck."

Oh fuck was right. Hal didn't need to look at the back room and the other rooms to know it was not ready for a queen. "Clean it up!" Joss roared at everyone. "Now! Sam, stall her!"

"Stall the queen? Are you mad?"

"Do it!"

Hal was already running for his room, the one he shared with other thespians. He was the first one in and started cleaning up, throwing dirty clothes where they could be easily hidden. It was hard since the fucking room was filthy. Two others came running in, trying to help him. They all just did what they could do to clean it up.

He wasn't sure if they were able to clean everything up but it looked clean enough he came out with the others. "Is the queen still out there?" Jack asked. He was still wearing his wig even though he got out of his costume.

Sweet Sam nodded. "She is."

"Well, let her in," Joss ordered. He was trying to looked dignified. It Hal thought it was hard when he was still wearing makeup on his cheeks.

Viserys came in first. He was dressed like he normally was when he was with them. His jerkin was unbuttoned and his shirt untucked. He walked in boots that were a size too big in Hal's eyes. But he wasn't laughing or smiling, like usual. Rather, he looked somewhere between serious and having been caught with a girl.

But considering the woman who walked in the room, Hal wasn't surprised. He felt his own back stiffen as the queen came into sight. She wasn't dressed like a queen and wasn't wearing a crown, but there was no doubting the regal air around her. She had been queen for thirty years, longer than since Hal had been born. Her hair was iron grey, like her eyes, and held in a small bun. She walked tall, like she was twenty-five years younger. Hal wondered if her wolf was with her but he didn't see it.

She looked at them all with a quiet eye. "So, Viserys, these are the mummers you're friends with," she said. Joss reddened with injured pride but said nothing.

Viserys nodded. "Yes, Grandmother. But they preferred to be called thespians."

She looked at him. He held her gaze but Hal didn't know how he could. There were many stories about the queen and he heard them all. He heard of when a Lysene magister came to King's Landing, to the queen's court, with three bed slaves. In the middle of his speech, he faltered because he couldn't look the queen in the eyes. Then she bought the bed slaves from him, freed them, bought the ship that brought him to Westeros, and forced him to pay the entirety of his wealth for a passage back to Lys on the same ship. He came wealthy and left penniless, all because he was fool enough to anger her.

"How is that different than a mummer?" she asked her grandson. "They mean the same thing."

"Words have power, Grandmother. Surely you know that is the truth."

"Words are wind."

Hal was insulted by that. He was a writer. His entire world was words. A small part of him tried to remember that she was the queen but he was too angry to care about it. "A strong enough wind can create a blaze," he said. She turned to look at him. Fear overruled his pride and it held him in place.

"I didn't see you out on the stage," she said, looking him up and down. "What's your name?"

"H-Hal, your Grace. I'm the company playwright."

"And was tonight's play yours?"

He nodded. "Aye, it was." He dared to ask, "You saw it?" He had checked the royal box as the play had started. It had been empty. Had she been amongst the masses?

She kept looking at him. Why was she looking at him? "Have you written others?"

"Yes."

"Do you think yourself good?"

Now that was just insulting his pride. What's more, she knew it. "I'm the best," he declared.

"Good," she said with a smile like a wolf pouncing on prey. "Then I have a challenge for you."

Something washed down his spine. Was it fear or anticipation? He was going with the second. "You want me to write a play?" It was the only thing that made sense to him. Why else would she say she had a challenge for him?

"I want you to write me a history." He was confused and she saw it. "I want you to write a play, use the words you think so highly of, and write a historical play about my ancestor. Write me a play of why Aegon the Conqueror thought he could rule Westeros." She gave him a challengingly look. "Do you believe yourself capable of that?"

She made it sound like he couldn't. He didn't care that she was the queen at that moment. "I am," he said with pride in his skills.

She smiled. "Good. I look forward to seeing it." She turned and left without another word.

The second the queen left their rooms, it was like everyone could breathe again. Hal couldn't believe what just happened. "The queen wants me to write a play," he said to himself.

"Aye," Viserys agreed. "And it only took her three plays to make the decision."

All eyes snapped to their prince. "Three plays?" Joss repeated. His jaw was agape. "The queen has seen three of our plays?"

He nodded. "Aye, I convinced her to come and she did. She enjoyed the first one and came back for more." He looked at Hal with a serious eye. He was rarely serious unless he played such a part. "My grandmother is expecting a lot from you, Hal. She wouldn't give you a challenge like that if she didn't think you could do it."

Hal was surprised at that. The queen had expected him to write something good? Pride filled him, along with a desire to prove himself. She wanted a history. That was what she was going to get. "Joss," he shouted as he turned and ran for the break room, "I need parchment!"

 **Sandor**

(Location: Red Keep)

Once, Sandor Clegane had been a feared killer of Tywin Lannister, though he shed no tears when the old lion died. Now, he was the oldest training serjeant for the Army of Westeros. All who wanted to join came through him first. He broke them down, built them back up into a fighting force, and they loved him for it. Where he had been called the Hound with fear, now he was called the Old Dog with affection, something he secretly was glad for.

He joined the army back when it was only the Golden Company. He had joined on the suggestion of the queen. If it had been anyone else, he might've dismissed it. But he knew he owed Queen Joan. She had killed the idea of knights and he gladly helped her murder it by making men into soldiers. So when she asked him to come King's Landing to help her, he was willing to go. It was also why he was standing behind her in her solar at the hour of the wolf. It was only them there, waiting silent.

The door opened and two guards came in. Between them, they carried Prince Gaemon, the queen's fifth grandson. Sandor would've been amazed at how many grandchildren the queen had but he already knew that Prince Aerys and his wife seemed determined to reestablish House Targaryen all by themselves.

The prince was still a youth at five and ten. He looked equal parts outraged and embarrassed. The guards released him and left the room. As soon as the door closed, he stood back up. "Grandmother—"

"What were you thinking?" Queen Joan asked. Sandor didn't need to see her eyes to know they were iron hard.

He didn't answer her. Instead, he asked another question. "How did you know?"

"Your brother told Aerys, who told me." Sandor watched the prince try to figure which one of his brothers ratted him out to their grandmother. He wondered how long until he realized that it was the youngest who had been listening in on him.

The queen didn't stop there. "Did you really think I would let you run away with Daena so you could marry each other?"

"We love each other," he said with the full foolish passion of youth. "We're meant to be."

"You're betrothed to Rhea Royce."

"I don't know her."

"She's coming to King's Landing so she can meet you, just like Manfred Dondarrion is coming to meet Deana." She frowned at her grandson. "You knew that."

He didn't brother to hide it. "We're Targaryens. We're meant to wed each other. You can't deny us this, Grandmother."

Sandor didn't say anything. That wasn't what he was there for. The queen looked her grandson full in the eye. "Do you know the story of King Aegon V and his children?" she asked him. He didn't answer, so she did. "Being the fourth son of a fourth son, it seemed unlikely in his youth he would become king and so married for love. But king he did become and he set out to change Westeros. He sought to make those changes permanent by marrying his children to seal alliances.

"Unfortunately, his children also decided to marry for love, uncaring about what the outcome would be. His firstborn broke his betrothal to marry Jenny of Oldstones, giving up his right to the Iron Throne. Jaehaerys married his sister Shaera in spite of the fact they were both betrothed to others.

"Those decisions came back to haunt our family a generation later, when Robert Baratheon, grandson of Rhaelle Targaryen, the daughter Aegon sent to appease the Baratheons whom Duncan had scorned, tried to take the Iron Throne not once, but twice from us." She held her finger an inch away from her thumb. "Our family was this close to destruction and while we survived, all the work Aegon V had made was undone. And now you threatened to do the same because you think only of yourself. I will not have it, Gaemon. This family will not destroy itself. You will do your duty and honor your betrothal."

The more she spoke, the more the prince seemed to realize the situation he was in. Sandor smiled to himself. He knew there was no escape for the prince. "But Grandmother, you married for love!" Prince Gaemon protested. "You married your brother while he was married to your sisters."

"I married them all, not one with the other. And that is not the point."

"It's the same thing!"

"No, it is not."

"Everyone knows that you loved them and you were happy. They've written songs about it. Why can't I have the same?"

"I married my brother and sisters because we all thought that the world was going to end soon and it was best to face it together." She narrowed her eyes at him. "You, on the other hand, have nothing like that. You are betrothed, Gaemon. Nothing will change that."

"I love Daena!"

"No," she said coldly. "You don't. You only think you love her. And now, you've forced my hand."

He went still at that. His face showed his confused uncertainty. "What do you mean?"

"Rhea Royce was to come to King's Landing and stay permanently. Now, after a short visit, she will be going back to the Vale. And you will be going with her, just like Daena will be going to Blackhaven with Manfred Dondarrion when he leaves." She looked him hard in the eyes. "And that will be the last time you see each other for a long time."

"No," he protested, horror washing over him.

"Yes. You will marry your betrothal and there's nothing you will do about it."

"You can't stop us from loving each other, Grandmother. We won't allow this."

Sandor didn't need to see the queen's eyes to know they sharpened. They always did that when she made her decision. "You have no choice in the matter, Gaemon." She gestured to him. "This is Sandor Clegane. He was a killer for longer than you or your father has been alive. If you try to run away with Daena again, if you try to marry her again, he will kill her and make you watch. Her death will be called an accident and you will still marry Rhea. Understand?"

The prince looked at his grandmother, horrified. She dismissed him and he left without a word, still looking at her like she was a monster. Once he was gone, Sandor looked at the queen. "Were you really going to have me kill your granddaughter?" he asked.

"No, of course not," she replied. She looked at him and the iron in her eyes vanished. Instead she looked tired, like the old woman she was. "But he doesn't know that and I had to drive the point home. I know my grandchildren, Sandor. A hard point had to be made, even if it's underhanded and sneaky."

He snorted quietly. No one could deny the fact the queen was very good at being underhanded and sneaky. He remembered fifteen years back when Volantis, Pentos, Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh united in a war against Slaver's Bay. It was a war that wasted their resources. When that point was reached, the might of Westeros and Braavos fell upon them. All their cities were sacked, their secrets taken, the mercenaries hired to fight for them destroyed, and the main power behind slavery broken.

The smallfolk and some foolish highborn thought it was a sign from the gods the queen ordered the army to attack. But Sandor just knew that the war was started deliberately by the new Kingsguard, spies chosen by Queen Joan, in those cities. They were the ones who brought the situation to fruit, giving her an excuse to destroy them. He wasn't the only one who thought it. No one said anything about it, though. After all, there was no actual proof. But he knew it was her. After all, she had been the one who suggested he row back to shore after leaving his brother on the sinking _Silence_.

The queen looked at him. "Do you have something to say, Sandor?" she asked him.

"No, your Grace."

"Good." She stiffened her shoulders. "Now to bring Daena and give her the death threat about Gaemon."

Which meant he had to go back to being intimidating. It was a good thing he knew how to do it in his old age. He fell silent as she sent a guard to go fetch her granddaughter. As he waited, he wondered if this conversation would be any different. The second Princess Daena came in with surprised look instead of outrage, he knew it wouldn't.

 **Aegon**

(Location: King's Landing)

Aegon did his best to keep a steady breath as the ship sailed into the harbor. He had been sent to foster under his uncle, Prince Baelor. When he sailed to find new lands, Aegon went with him. They found new lands and they established themselves there, he had done his part and helped build the colony. When they discovered the natives, he was the one who advocated for peace and support, offering himself in marriage to them.

Looking back at her, he still could not believe he had married Chief Wapasha's daughter, Kimimela. She was beautiful and he didn't just say that because they were married. She was beautiful, nothing like any other woman he had seen. Her long black hair was tied in a braid that rested against her shoulder. Her dark eyes took in everything they could see, wide with awe. It betrayed the quietness her face gave. Back in her land, she had worn clothing of her tribe. But here, he had convinced her to wear a black dress with a red dragon. It made her look even more exotic than she usually was.

She looked his way. "You're staring," she said quietly, her words coated with a slight accent. He loved the way the words sounded from her mouth.

He saw the slight smile on her lips and smiled back. "How can I not stare at such a beautiful woman?" He knew her well. He had been the one who taught the Common Tongue to her and the other natives who had been willing to learn.

Her smile widened slightly but then her eyes turn back to the city. They traveled up to the Red Keep. "That is your hut," she said.

"Castle, Kimimela, it's a castle."

She ignored that. "It is where your tribe lives." When he taught the natives, he told them that the nobles houses of Westeros were like tribes. Because of that, they knew him as from the dragon tribe, something he didn't refute.

He looked up at the Red Keep. It had been a lot time since he had seen it last. Even though he had been a boy when he left for Dragonstone, it still looked the same to him. "It is. And they're waiting for us."

The ship docked in the harbor and they both came ashore. Someone was waiting for them. "You've been busy, little brother," Aemon said, looking at them both with a knowing look.

"Hello, Aemon," Aegon said back. "Are you well?" His brother looked well. His silver hair hung loose against his back, curling wildly.

"I am."

"How's your wife?" Even though he had been betrothed to Gywnesse Greyjoy for nearly fifteen years, a year or two after Aegon had been born, it was only in the recent years they had married.

"Gywn is fine." He looked to Kimimela and smiled charmingly. "But who is this beautiful maiden?"

Aegon reached for her and brought her forward. "This is Kimimela, daughter of Chief Wapasha. She's my wife." He looked to her. "This is Prince Aemon Targaryen, first son of Prince Aerys."

She knew what that meant. She looked to him and bowed her head. "I greet you, Eldest Brother."

Aemon didn't react to such a strange greeting. Instead he smiled more like a brother and bowed his head back. "Welcome to King's Landing and our family, Little Sister."

There was a quiet snort behind them. Aegon didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Aemon glanced back with a questioning look. "That's Watching Hawk," Aegon told him. "He's Chief Wapasha's brother and observer."

The older man came up beside them and looked Aemon in the eyes. Aegon knew it was a powerful stare. There was something about Watching Hawk that reminded him of the Kingsguard of old, when they were knights who publicly defended the royal family. He looked at Aemon with those quiet eyes, trying to see if he was a threat.

"Aegon, what's with the different name?" Aemon asked.

He didn't know. He dared to ask one time and no one had answered him. "It's his name," he told his brother. That was all he dared to say.

There was a carriage for them to take to the Red Keep but Aegon requested they ride horses instead. They rode through the streets of the city up to the castle. Kimimela and Watching Hawk gawk unashamedly. This was their first time seeing something like this. Aegon didn't gawk like they did but he did look out at the city.

It was beautiful. He had heard that in the days of King Rhaegar, King's Landing was a city third to both Lannisport and Oldtown, that it stunk to the seven hells and crammed with more people than it could house. But looking at the city, he couldn't believe it. How could something like this, clearly the greatest city in the world, be a stinking shithole? It boggled his mind every time.

They rode into the Red Keep's courtyard. There, servants rushed out to take their horses. There were some who stared at his wife and her uncle. He didn't let the stares affect him but Kimimela seemed concerned. He reached out and took her by the hand. It was a silent comfort, one she accepted.

They walked towards the castle but the queen's direwolf came out of Maekar's Holdfast. Both Aegon and Aemon went still at the sight of Ghost. "Kimimela, Watching Hawk, don't move," Aegon warned them both. "You risk being injured if you do."

They did as they were told. "What is this?" Watching Hawk asked, his quiet voice equal parts guarded and curious.

"It's a direwolf. He belongs to my grandmother." Ghost padded closer to them, taking his time approaching.

"How can a leader of dragons hold a wolf?"

It was a good thing he knew that answer. If he hadn't, it would make less in Watching Hawk's eyes. "My grandmother's mother was a Stark, the direwolf tribe of the North."

"The First Men."

"Aye, them." That was something both he and Watching Hawk had pondered on the journey here. They had wondered if his race were somehow related to the First Men, as they had no contact with the rest of the world before the Westerosi arrived. It was something he would love to figure out, if they had the time and the resources.

Ghost came up to them. Aegon remembered being a babe and the wolf was the biggest thing he had ever seen. The wolf sniffed him once, recognizing him, and padded over to Kimimela and Watching Hawk. He sniffed them, making sure he had their scent. When he was done, he looked at Kimimela, then at Aegon. Then he turned back to the Holdfast.

Kimimela looked at Aegon. "What was that?" she asked him.

"Him getting your scent, knowing you," he replied. "It's the first test, I guess."

Aemon led them into the Holdfast, to the queen's private quarters. It was a quiet walk. When they reached the door to the queen's quarters, Aegon's father was there waiting for them.

"Aegon, welcome home," Prince Aerys said with a warm smile.

The last time Aegon had seen his father, he was growing a bread, claiming to see what it would like. Now, that beard hung to his stomach. "Father, you look old," he said back. It was probably the one wrong with having Valyrian features. Long beards did not work for them.

But he laughed it off. "I _am_ old." His purple eyes fell on Kimimela and they turned soft, warm. "This is your wife."

"It is."

She stepped forward and looked him in the eyes. "I greet you, Father."

"Hello, Kimimela," he said, smiling fatherly at her. He looked at Watching Hawk. "And you must be my brother." Watching Hawk didn't say anything about that. He just looked at him in silence. "Come in," he told them all. "Mother is waiting."

They went inside. The solar hadn't changed much since Aegon had been here last, when he was only six. The queen of Westeros sat near the fireplace. It might've been so she could be warm but she did not sit weakly in the chair. Her white hair glinted in the firelight and grey eyes found them. One hand stroked Ghost's fur idly while she watched them. "Welcome home, Aegon," she said to him, her grey eyes watching him and the others.

"Grandmother," he said, bowing his head to her. They might be family but she was still the queen.

"And this is your wife," she said, looking at Kimimela. She pointed to the spot before her chair. "Come here, girl."

She approached the queen and Aegon felt like his heart was in his throat. He knew nothing bad would happen but that didn't stop him from worrying. Kimimela wasn't afraid. "I greet you, Grandmother," she said.

"Bit early to be calling me that," the queen remarked, looking her over.

She was a little confused, Aegon could see it in her eyes. "I have married Aegon. His family is my family. You are my grandmother."

"It sounds like you mind up your mind."

"It is the truth."

Joan kept looking her over. "And you are a princess, are you? A daughter of your chief?" Kimimela nodded. "How did you meet my grandson?"

"He offered himself as…a hostage," she explained, taking a moment to find the right word. "To ensure peace. He offered to teach us his language. I was his student."

"She was my best student," Aegon offered. "She became our interpreter when there were talks. It was thanks to her that there weren't any serious fights."

His grandmother looked at him. "Serious fights?"

"A few of our people have clashed," Kimimela said. "There were misunderstandings, things that were explained."

"Which side fought more?" she asked, looking at them both. There was a question in her eyes. It was a question from a queen, not a grandmother.

Aegon saw the question and knew what it was. She was asking because if it was her people, she would have them punished. If it was the natives, she would demand something of them. "It was even," he said. "And even then, the problems did not last long."

She seemed to take that as truth. She looked back at Kimimela. "Do you fight, girl?" Watching Hawk narrowed his eyes at that question. Not because of the question itself but because of his niece's hesitance.

"Aegon has taught me to wield a sword."

"But you do not prefer it."

Aegon was astounded by his grandmothor. How did she know that? She always had that ability. It was freaky sometimes. "No," Kimimela said. "I like a bow better."

"For hunting or for war?"

"I prefer the first but I will do the second, if I must." That was something Aegon had been surprised when he first met them. The native women were just as able to go to war as the men. That was something he hadn't seen in Westeros. He knew that his grandmother had been a warrior when she was young but she didn't set the standard.

Grandmother glanced over at Father and nodded once. He walked over to a nearby chest and pulled out two bows. He went to the queen and held them out. Aegon saw the first one she took was a weirwood longbow. "For your wars," she said, holding it out to Kimimela. The second was a common hunting bow. "For your hunts."

"Mother," said Father, sounding surprised. "Are you certain?"

She nodded. "I'm sure, Aerys."

Kimimela looked at the bows. "Do they mean something?" she asked. Aegon wondered the same, at least for the hunting bow. He knew what the longbow was.

His father answered. "The weirwood bow used to belong to Brynden Rivers, an ancestor of ours. The queen has wielded the bow when she's gone to war. But that hunting bow, it's hers alone. When she hunted, that was the bow she used."

She looked down at the bow with new eyes. "You give this to me?" she asked. Watching Hawk looked impressed somewhat once he learned. He knew the importance of a weapon's history.

Joan looked at her again. This time, her eyes were kind. "Of course I do. You're my granddaughter, child. I'm supposed to give you gifts. And besides, I haven't used them in the longest time. Now," she said as she stood up from the chair, "let's go eat dinner. I am interested to hear about your culture and I want to see if I can get this new son of mine to open his mouth and say something." She grinned at Watching Hawk. Kimimela and it made Aegon smile too. Things were going to be just fine.

 **Aemon**

(Location: King's Landing)

He could still hear the bells ringing. They had stopped ringing the day before but he could still hear them. The bells had been ringing for his father. Crown Prince Aerys was dead. His horse had spooked and thrown him, breaking his neck.

He was on his way to speak to the queen. She had summoned him after dinner. But he had to take moment and rest against the wall. _"I can't believe he's gone,"_ he thought to himself. His father had always been there, for all of his children. When Mother passed away, he had been the one who helped them through the grief, never mind his own. He had always been there to give a comforting word, good advice, or a laugh when it was needed. But now, he was gone. His father was gone.

A sob torn through his throat. He didn't let it get through his mouth. He stood there, against the wall, and wished that Gywn was here with him. She had gone back to the Iron Islands for a meeting with her family. It was only a week ago but he still wished she was here. He could always take comfort in her being here.

He pushed off the wall and continued on. He reached his grandmother's chambers and knocked on the door. "Enter," the queen said from beyond.

He opened the door and walked in. Queen Joan was sitting by the window, looking out at the city. When she looked at him, she looked like a statue, resolute, the lines of her face carved into her skin with a knife. He'd yet to see her cry. Most would think her cold, cruel even. But he could see the slouch in her shoulders, the shaking of her hands and the softer notes in her voice.

She grieved. In her own way. "Grandmother?" he asked

She took a deep, slow breath, letting it out with a shaking in her chest he almost didn't catch. "You are now the Crown Prince, Aemon," she told him. "You are my heir. Come the morning, you will be taking on more responsibilities in governing Westeros. You will not be Hand of the Queen like your father was right now. That is something you will have to work up to."

He felt his jaw clench. "Can…can this not wait? It has not been even a single day since the service."

Her eyes trailed down to the floor. It was the first time he could remember that happening. Guilt immediately welled in him. "Who knows when I will go," she said by way of answer. "So no, I suppose it cannot. It's the best way to learn how to be a king."

He went perfectly still. The thought of his _grandmother_ being…absent like his father, made him feel cold down to the pit of his stomach. His grandmother, more than anyone else that he could think of seemed frankly immortal. Trying to even imagine a world without her stern gaze over them was beyond even his most world imaginings.

She didn't look at him but at the door behind him. He looked back at it. It was still open. He walked slowly over to it and closed it. He took a breath. She grieved in her way. Perhaps work was a focus for her. Something that helped and, ultimately, she wasn't wrong. "What place in the government would you have me?" he asked.

"Some place in the Ministry of Laws," she said. "It's a good place for you to start. You will be a better King than any of your siblings. Even your father."

He raised an eyebrow. "What did that even mean?

She looked to the fire burning low. "I knew my son, Aemon. He was a kind man, generous with his friends, always willing to help out those who need. He was a good man. And he would've been a poor king. But you," she said, looking to him, "You would be a good king."

How could that be? "I'm the same as my father." He was kind and generous. Since he was the firstborn of a big family, he had to be. Everyone looked up to him.

"No, Aemon, you're not. You can be just as ruthless as you are generous. You've shown it to me before."

His mind went back to Gaemon and Daena. Their eldest siblings, parents, and grandparent knew about their attraction. But it wasn't until Aerys came to Grandmother and told her what they were planning to do. When it was discussed, it was Aemon who suggested threatening to kill one of them and then separating them. His father had protested, saying that it was too much, that they should just talk to them. But Grandmother had gone with his idea.

And that was just one thing. He had a soldier during the Breaking War. He had made decisions that won battles but cost him men. Still, they had won. He had been recognized for what he had done. They saw his ruthlessness as heroic. And he didn't bother to correct them. His grandmother knew all this.

"You know I'm right," she said quietly.

"You are." He was going to be king now. Suddenly the world felt a lot different. "I will be king."

"Only after I'm dead."

That thought scared him. "I hope that won't happen for a long time, Grandmother."

She smiled at him but looked so frail. "You know well that it could soon, Aemon. You'd best be ready." He didn't feel ready.

 **Joan**

(Location: King's Landing)

"Gods, I'm old," Joan grumbled as the Council ended. She nearly fell asleep twice. She pushed away from the table and stood up, her hand holding tight on her cane.

Gywn was there to help. "Here, Grandmother," she said, offering an arm.

If she had felt stronger, she would've refused the arm. But she took it all the same. "Thank you, Gywn." She hated this, just like she knew Gywn hated it. Her granddaughter had been a fierce sailor when she was young, just like her mother had been. When Aemon and she were betrothed, she made it hard for him, making him win her love. She didn't like being an aide.

But now, she had calmed down and was more than willing to help if needed. Together they walked out of the Council room. "How is little Rhaegar?" Joan asked her. She never thought she would live to see her own great-grandson. Then again, she never thought she would've ruled Westeros for seven decades.

"He's fine, Grandmother. Would you like to play with him? He loves that."

"Of course, I would." As they passed a window, she looked out it. The day was bright and sunny, a beautiful summer day. A thought came to her. Any work that needed to be done could be done tomorrow. She could do with a break. "We shall go to the godswood."

Gywn took her there. The day's warmth was balm to her bones but the walk to the heart tree was tiring. She sat down against its white trunk and took a moment to breathe. "You alright?" Gywn asked.

"I'm fine, Gywn. Just tired. Why don't you go get Rhaegar and bring him here?"

"You sure?"

"Yes. You go get him. I'll be here." She watched her granddaughter leave and rested against the weirwood. The tree came to King's Landing as a seed by Robb when she became queen. She looked at its quiet face. She had been the one who carved it when Aemon was born, yet it felt ageless.

Sometimes, she felt the same way. King's Landing had changed from her youth. So had Westeros. She knew that because she had made it change. In this day and age, knights existed only the stories and histories. Any man could become a soldier, just like any man could work themselves up to a better life. There were many new noble houses in her reign because of that.

But it was more than that. Today, people looked to the Iron Islands, to the ironborn, and didn't scavengers or pirates. They saw their navy's home. The name of Golden Company existed within her and the history books. It had long been replaced with being the army. The Citadel wasn't the only place of learning. Harrenhal was another. She had discussed with Aemon and her lords to make White Harbor, Storm's End, and Godsgrace the same.

She had ruled through it all, for seventy years. She had ruled longer than Jaehaerys the Wise. They called her the Old Queen. Before, her enemies called her the Wingless Dragon, all because she had never once mounted Fang, Moonfyre, or Seawing. She had always ignored that. She could command them with her mind. She didn't need to ride them. The threat of them was also enough too.

But she hated using them as a threat. Her ancestor had done it and made the lords of Westeros obey grudgingly. She only used them as a threat to enforce the laws she enacted. Now those same laws the lords accepted only because she made them, their grandchildren accepted as truth. It was why, in her sixtieth year of ruling, she secretly sent the dragons away. They weren't needed anymore. But if people knew what she did, they would either call her foolish or hatch new plots against her. It was why she only shared the secret with Aemon when he became her Hand, only a year ago.

Thinking of Aemon made her think of Rhaegar. She wondered what kind of life her great-grandson would know. It made her think about the life she had, the people she had known. When she had first taken her crown, she was surrounded by her friends and allies. Now she was surrounded by their children, grandchildren, and strangers.

She thought of her first Hand, Mya. She had helped her rule for the better part of twenty-five years. But she was more than that. She had spent as much time in the council room with Joan as out. An illness killed her and Joan was devasted. But she had to pick a new Hand. She chose Willas Tyrell and he served her for the next ten years.

But sooner or later, all her friends started to die. Sam lasted the longest, serving as her Grand Maester for nearly sixty years. Edd was a close second, serving her for forty years as Master of Whispers. She still caught herself looking for Sam whenever she looked at Maester Jon, who always seemed too young for the job, even if he was forty. _"Maybe it's because I'm too old,"_ she thought to herself ruefully.

A cooing sound filled her ears. She looked to the path and saw Gywn coming back with Rhaegar in her arms. "And here's Grandmother," she said, handing him to her.

She smiled as she took him. He was too young to understand his actual grandmother, Dalla, had been dead for twenty years. Her death broke Aerys's heart and he never remarried. Since they had children long before she died, and with a hard stare from the queen, no one tried parading their daughters in front of him.

"Hello there," she said to the baby, old grey eyes looking down at innocent purple ones. "Who's a cheerful little babe? Who's a cheerful little babe? It's you, yes it is." She bounced him on her knee, making him giggle and laugh happily. He smiled widely, showing toothless gums. It made her heart beat happily. "Would you like to hear a story, Rhaegar? It's about your grandparents."

She told him about how when she went to visit the Starks in Winterfell and the Free Folk settling in the gift. While she talked, Aerys got involved in a snowball fight with Dalla, Ygritte's daughter. That was the first time they met. She'd like to think that was when they fell in love.

When he asked her hand ten years later, she punched him in the face and then dragged him away, properly stealing him. The next day, they were married. The lords of Westeros protested, all angry they had lost the chance to have the heir to the throne marry their daughters. Joan smoothed things over by saying the marriage was a way to tie the Free Folk closer to Westeros. It was mostly the truth.

The stories spilled out of her after that. She told him about his father, his mother, his aunts and uncles, all their funny stories. She told him about his great aunt Daenerys stunned Westeros by marrying Daniel, the first Lord Sheriff of King's Landing. About how her son Baelor never married but had many children he all cared for. She told him about her life, who she had seen and met. Who she had loved.

She remembered all of them as she spoke. How Rhaenys would get annoyed when someone interrupted her reading. How Aegon kept trying to write poetry but it always turned out laughably horrible. How Visenya would always place a priority on training, to the extent she would have to be dragged off the yard.

As she talked, her heart began beating with that old ache. Gods, it had been seventy years and she still missed them. There were days when she woke up and still hoped to see them in the bed with her. And every time, her heart hurt when she didn't see them. When Elia had died, she had hated the Dornishwoman for a moment, just because she knew she would be reunited with her children. But the moment passed.

When she was all done talking, Rhaegar was restive. He was falling asleep in her arms. "I think it's time for his nap," she remarked to Gywn.

She took her son back into her arms. "I'll put him down and come back with Aemon," she said. "You could use the company."

"Take your time, Gywn," she told her granddaughter. "I'll stay here." She watched silently as they left.

She leaned against the tree again, feeling so tired. People said that she had ruled the last ten years on pure stubbornness, refusing to die. That might be true but she knew that ever since Ghost had passed on, she was getting weaker. Her time was coming with each passing day. Perhaps it was time to let it go and have Aemon finally take the Iron Throne.

" _No,"_ she thought to herself. _"The work's not done."_ Still, she was tired. Perhaps if she closed her eyes and rested, she would be better. So that's what she did, leaning against the trunk of the tree and closing her eyes.

She opened them with a snap. There was a woman standing over her. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The woman smiled down at her. She looked like a Stark. "Hello, Joan." She sounded like she knew her.

But Joan had met many Stark women, all her nieces. She didn't know this one. "Who are you?" she demanded again.

"You don't recognize me," the woman said. She didn't sound disappointed, just expectant. "I understand. I only held you the once."

"Once?"

"Come now, Joan. Surely you must know who I am?"

She did look at her, long and hard. As she had seen before, she was a Stark. But she hadn't been a Stark she had seen before. There was something familiar about her but she couldn't place it. It was like something from an old dream, barely remembered. When she did figure it out, the first thing she said was "Bother, I've finally gone mad."

The surprised look on her face was very humorous. "I'm sorry?"

"I must be going mad if I'm seeing my mother." She looked at Lyanna Stark. "Why else would you be here?"

"You're not going mad, Joan. Something else happened."

She started to ask what it was, only to stop when she made the connection. "I died?" She was dead? How? When did it happen? That was a foolish question. In the back of her mind, she knew she must've died when she closed her eyes. Did Aemon and Gywn find her? They probably did.

But as she realized that she was dead, she realized what that meant. She looked up with new eyes. "Mother?" she said, her voice changing, becoming less cynical, more hopeful.

Lyanna smiled motherly. "Hello, my little dragonwolf." She reached out a hand.

Joan took it and stood up. She hugged her mother tightly. It was a feeling she never thought she would have. Her mother was someone rarely discussed and she knew it was never in front of her. But now, she was here and she was hugging her. "I'm not going mad?" she asked, wanting to be sure.

"No, Joan, you're not going mad," her mother told her. "It's just time for you to come home. Everyone is waiting for you."

She latched onto those words with a sudden hope. "Egg's here? Rhae? 'Senya?" They were all here? She stopped as she realized how long it's been since she had seen them. "I'm so old now." It was vain but she didn't them to see her like this.

Lyanna laughed. "Age doesn't matter here, not to us. We are who we think we are." She held her arms out. "Do I look like I'm six and ten to you?" She didn't. She was in her forties, with wrinkles on her face and some grey streaking through her hair. How did Joan miss that?

But then she looked at her own hand. It wasn't wrinkled with age or gnarled. Her skin was smooth and clear, like it belonged to a young maiden. Her arm was the same and when she looked at her hair, it wasn't white. It was brown. Stark brown. "I'm young again?"

Her mother just smiled. "Come." She took her by the hand. "Quite a few people want to see you again. I know one who's most eager."

Joan heard the rustling in the bushes. It was an old familiar sound. So when the white direwolf came bounding up to her, she smiled and knelt down to hug his ruff. "Ghost, it's so good to see you again."

Together, the three of them walked out of the godswood into the Red Keep. The first thing Joan noticed was how much better the keep looked. It wasn't pristinely clean but it just looked better. She didn't notice any shit on the ground or animals wandering. The air was clean and fresh, just like out in the woods. She blinked and found herself in Winterfell. She blinked again and she was at her cottage in the wolfswood. Another blink and it was the castle in the Point. It was all her memories of home mixing into one.

But what had her attention were the people in the courtyard. It was her family, all of them. Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya were the first to see her. They looked just like she remembered. Within two seconds her arms were full of a joyous Visenya. Rhaenys and Aegon quickly follow and they engulfed in the biggest hug she ever had. Tears clung to her eyes as she held them all like she didn't want to let go. "I missed you," she said.

"You're here now," Aegon told her, smiling that warm smile that always made her knees feel weak. "That's all that matters now."

They led to the others. She saw Aerys, her son, young and happy with his wife. She saw Daenerys with Daniel, happy with one another. Baelor stood nearby, looking happily at his mother. Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, all her cousins with their husbands and wives were there too. Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn was there too, along with Benjen and Brandon. Her father was there and so was Viserys. Both welcomed her with open arms and wide smiles. Even Elia Martell was there and she greeted her politely.

Even though she met all her family, she kept looking for one person. She searched but it didn't seem like she couldn't find him. She was beginning to feel like he wouldn't be there. But then she came to the end and she saw him there. "Grandfather."

Aerys stood there, beside Rhaella. He looked different from when she saw him in life. He was clean, his nails short, and his hair groomed. But it was more than that. There was no madness in his eyes. He was sane. He saw her and he smiled. She took a running start and slammed into his chest, hugging him for he was worth. He laughed and hugged her back. "Welcome home, Joan," he said, kissing her hair. "I missed you."

"I missed you too," she said, holding on tightly like she was afraid to let go. She never experienced this feeling when he had been alive. It was a good feeling. Now she knew she was safe. She was home.

* * *

 _In spite of her disputed origins, Joan Targaryen was crowned as the first official queen on the Iron Throne. She ruled 412 to 482 FV, where she transitioned Westeros from the Middle Age to the Early Modern Age. It became known as the Joanian Age and was considered a golden age for Westeros._

 _During her reign, Joan revised the yearly calendar, pushing it back a hundred years to the Fall of Valyrian. She encouraged growth of the arts, such as poetry, music, and plays. She also reworked the laws and brought back the ones made by Aegon V. While the lords of her generation protested, the threat of dragonfire prevented it from growing any more than that._

 _She was also responsible for abolishing the serfdom of Westeros, allowing for commercial practices to take shape. While the noble houses still held power during her reign, that power did begin it's long diminishing. She also helped established the official Westerosi army and navy, using the Golden Company and Ironborn respectively to form the core of each. She was also responsible for changing the role of the Kingsguard from a bodyguard position to one of espionage._

 _If there was any hint of what was then called Targaryen madness in her, it was her unrelenting hatred for Tywin Lannister. In spite of the fact that he had done nothing to insult or harm her, she hated him. It had been said it was for her grandfather's sake, as it well known her best relation within House Targaryen during her childhood was the imprisoned Mad King._

 _The only time Tywin Lannister appeared in her court, she insulted him to such an extent that the entire court laughed. He left the court and traveled back to the Westerlands. As soon as he arrived at Casterly Rock, he declared himself King of the Rock and that the Westerlands would not answer to the Iron Throne. Many people expect the queen to march into the Westerlands and give them fire and blood, to extinguish House Lannister like he had done to House Tarbeck and Reyne. Instead, she placed a trading embargo on the Westerlands and had the army stationed on the border. When he passed away, she infamously said, "Took him long enough," and only then marched into the Westerlands in order to ensure that Tyrion Lannister took his father's seat._

 _Another moment that was called madness at the time was her controversial decision to remove the Crown's support from the Faith of the Seven. But she did not drive the Faith away. Instead, she welcomed all religions to Westeros, claiming each man was free to worship their own gods without persecution._

 _Her sphere of influence also extended beyond Westeros. After the Breaking War, with Slaver's Bay and five of the Free Cities burning and their secrets stolen, Queen Joan issued a proclamation. She accepted the fact that it was her choice to send her army into the war. She also justified it as her right as the last dragonlord, calling the theft of their secrets and trade as a means of punishment. She also acknowledged Braavos, calling the city "a true daughter of Valyria." For the next three decades, the Free Cities were weary of "Making Mother angry," unaware that she instigated the war. That fact didn't come out until a century after her death._

 _If it hadn't been for the fact she gave birth to a son, Joan would've most likely been known as the Virgin Queen. She never remarried after the death of Prince Aegon, despite pressure from many of her lords. Once she had enough, she famously declared "I am wedded to Westeros," and put an end the insistence of her being married. Although it was rumored that she had several lovers throughout her reign, the first supposedly being Mya Stone, her first Hand._

 _Her son, Prince Aerys, and his wife, Dalia of the Free Folk, had certainly done their part in restoring House Targaryen, having no less than ten children. It was thanks to their abundance of heirs that the term Targaryen Twins was coined for their children who were born within twelve months of one another. With each child, Queen Joan secured alliances with her lords, bringing them into the fold._

 _In the fiftieth year of her reign, Queen Joan removed most of her titles and gave herself the title Queen of Westeros. She proclaimed that what her ancestor had crafted with dragons, she had forged with laws and trade. While it was a gesture missed by the common folk, the title of Queen or King of Westeros would stay with the ruler on the Iron Throne up to the present day._

 _The peace and prosperity she brought to Westeros was extended by her grandson, King Aemon I, who was most notable for ordering the construction of King's Landing University on the ruins of the Dragonpit, as well additional universities at White Harbor, Storm's End, and Godsgrace. It wasn't until his son, Rhaegar II, that Westeros became embroiled in conflict again._

 _Her reign of seventy years would be considered the longest until her descendent Elaena I, who ruled for eighty-four years in the 10_ _th_ _century VF. She is still remembered today as one of the greatest rulers to have sat on the Iron Throne._

— Massey, Triston. _From Bastard to Queen: Queen Joan's Reign._ Icefire Publishing Company, South King's Landing, 1112 VF.

* * *

 **End**

 **Author's note:** Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

I apologize for taking so long with this chapter. Editing took a lot longer than the previous chapters, as well as the conversations between me and my editor about its parts.

I'm not sure how help groups actually started but they had to have start somewhere. Of course, Sam and Joan might've also started the foundation of AA meetings with all the booze they'll be having there.

My editor and I had different views on what to do with the ironborn. What's in the story is the original version. What he wanted to do was have Joan silently avoid the Iron Islands, take Asha hostage, and offer her the Islands in exchange for continued peace, lest she wanted everything to burn down. I disagreed with the idea because it wouldn't have worked. As weird as this might seem, but the ironborn are pretty similar to the northmen. If something happens, they want to see it with their own eyes and judge it themselves. If Joan wanted to win over their loyalty, she had to do it publicly and in the open. What better way to do that than at the kingsmoot? She wanted to change Westeros. How can she do that when she follows the old method of invading the Iron Islands every time they want to raid?

In case it wasn't clear before now, Hal is Westeros's Shakespeare. And no, I didn't come up with Joss's name because of Joss Whedon. It was just a name I found on the wiki that worked.

Sending the dragons away might seem crazy (and possibly even a little stupid) but I do believe that it would've been for the best by the time she did it. Think about it. Sixty years ago, there was racial segregation in the U.S. and people argued about it. Now, we don't even think about it. We let everyone in because we grew up with the idea already in our minds. Thirty years ago, LGTB people had a lot of problems with what they wanted their lives to be. Nowadays, they can get married and it's legal. Give us another ten years and I'll bet money no one will bat an eyelash if someone comes out (hell, it's already happening). The point is that people change, get use to things that seemed so radical and different before. So they would've gotten used to the laws she brought into creation and wouldn't need the threat of dragons to obey them.

I know that there was a lot of information for this story crammed into just three chapters. A lot can be expanded upon and there could be more stuff. I might, and I heavily stress the word _might_ , come back to this and rework it into an actual story. But I've got enough on my plate for that not to happen right now. I'm just glad this story is finally done.

I'll see you all in the next story!


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